


Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

by erobey



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lonely and looking for love, Legolas enlists his Ada to find a suitable first lover, but when Elladan and Elrohir arrive unexpectedly with their human foster-brother Aragorn in tow, the young prince has more suitors than he can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

  by erobey | un-beta'd |  _Italics=thoughts_

#### Chapter One: Legolas Has a Request

The soft chatter of voices reached him from ahead, four distinctive voices well known and loved, and Legolas, weary beyond exhaustion though he was, could not help but listen. They were talking of home and the leave promised at the end of this mission, of longing for the security of high talans and the comfort of soft beds, of sweet reunions, passionate and joyful, with mates or lovers, of filing one's arms with the warm, fragile resilience of a beloved child's body, lean little arms flung round the returned parent's neck, locked on tighter than a tick on a deer's flank, as squeals of laughter and shrieks of welcome exploded at ear-level. Mirth bubbled up over that, jokes about being near deaf for a ten-day and unable to go anywhere without the attached elfling, not even to empty the bladder or bathe.

Those not so blessed, as yet, gave moving tribute in poetic terms, these stalwart soldiers, these inveterate assassins, of what it meant to see the light of love and feel the warmth of a gentle touch from those so dear to them it pained the heart in the most wondrous way. The phrases were such that songs were meant to carry them and, indeed, one of the warriors broke into a spontaneous ballad.

 _'I know him, and my heart leaps as the scent of him precedes his coming,_

soft and soundless through the leaves, he moves toward me, eyes filled with his spirit, which has pined for me these many days,

As mine has sought for him in the dark and the night, in the midst of battle, in the stars cool and brilliant, in the rising sun and the running brook.

And Lo! He is there; he is there! My joy expands and floods the forest, spills into the wind and speeds away through the air,

a winged thing, swifter than a hawk, brighter than a scarlet singer, my love reaches him before I do and claims him before I do. 

I know him and follow my spirit, hastening to his arms to affirm what our hearts have already proclaimed: 

we are one, secured by love and sealed by desire; eternally, we are one.'

Quiet praise followed the impromptu performance and Legolas dutifully added his, though the words struck him with a peculiar sort of agony he had come to expect of late, for now this song, these circumstances, combined to produce a more devastating twinge than normal. He slumped a bit on his mare's withers and a long sigh issued from his lungs. At once a firm hand clasped his upper arm to steady him.

"Ernilen, do you need to halt and rest for a time?" the question was scarcely louder than a whisper as the tall elf leaned close, concern in his sharp green eyes and pensive brow. He scanned Legolas' face and peered into the gaze turned upon him, searching for the answer this way as he knew what words would follow his query.

"I am weary, true, but not enough to make us stop. Please, Elboron, we all just want to get home," Legolas whispered back, sighing again when his captain sat straight and gaped at him in shock. "Please do not call attention to me," he pleaded.

"I have no intent to do so, Brannon neth; I just was not expecting you to admit to the evident discomfort you suffer," said Elboron, compassion in his tone and touch as he gave a gentle squeeze and then let go. A brief pause ensued. "You are sure…"

"Aye, let it pass!" hissed Legolas, resuming a more upright posture. An inquisitive face turned in his direction and he glared at the warrior ahead so darkly the elleth hastily averted her eyes.

The gleeful conversations had stopped, the warriors mute as each contemplated the homecoming now mere hours away. The danger intricately woven into their lives and careers lent the peace and serenity of common events a sweetness that was incomparable and much cherished. Sporting with death as they did, the silvan archers hungered for the simplicity of their sheltered corner of the ancient woods where music and dance, the hunt and the feast, the stars and the turn of the seasons fixed the focus of their existence and bound them together. There it was yet possible to forget, for a little while, that they were a people besieged, struggling for the right to remain free.

Truly, Legolas did not begrudge them their avowals of love, their bursting pride over adored children, or even the detailed referrals to bed-sport and trysting. These were not just warriors under his father's command but comrades he had known all his life, his boon companions since their elfling days when the five of them had distinguished themselves as prodigies in the art of killing. Selected out from among their peers, the common gift and the rigourous training to which they were thenceforth subjected forged a deep bond between them. Yet, of late, a breach had opened betwixt them; one that separated Legolas from his dearest friends. Alone among them, he had no lover, no mate, no family of his own. For the first time since their introduction to one another, Legolas was left out.

 _The pain and weariness lends their friendly banter a less genial note to my ears and that is to be expected, as is their need to express their hope and happiness. After the rigours we've endured, they are bound to be more vocal, more urgent in their desire for home and family again._

So Legolas rationalised his discontent. Indeed, it had been a near thing whether they would ever return and only extreme measures had kept Elboron from losing the entire troop to the long death of imprisonment and torture in Dol Guldur. Legolas was not the only casualty but his hurts were the more serious and, while not life-threatening, the injuries were also not trivial. The unrelenting ache and throb had him feeling keenly every bit of the effort their escape had cost. 

On top of these physical woes, his pride had taken a terrible blow, for the truth could not be denied and would have to enter the official report of the mission. While providing the diversion required to permit the troop's escape, Legolas had fallen from the heights, brought down by a careless misstep onto a branch rotted and crumbling. He landed hard and barely had time to recover his breath before a contingent of orcs swarmed in to capture him. That had been a fierce and bloody battle that came to daggers before he got back into the trees and managed to flee.

When Elboron spied him, staggering with stiff, ungainly steps through the canopy, tunic drenched dark with both elvish and orcish blood, wheezing in laboured efforts to get enough air, he nearly fainted. More than a trusted captain and mentor, he was Thranduil's younger brother and the one person in all the realm the King trusted to keep his beloved son safe. Fortunately, the wounds looked far worse than truly they were and Elboron was relieved to learn that as he tended the gashes and carefully splinted a badly swollen wrist. This Legolas regretted the most, causing his uncle the distress and guilt of seeing him bloodied and battered and spent. Now he would not leave Legolas' side and while his presence was an undeniable comfort, it reinforced a nagging loss of confidence.

Legolas sighed again, this time with enough volume that it came forth sounding more like an abbreviated groan. Every head turned to him and again Elboron took careful hold of his good arm.

"Valar, this pace is a hindrance," Legolas complained to cover his despondency. "Can we not hurry a bit, toradar? We are all eager to reach the gates before night."

"I agree and will feel better to have a healer examine those injuries," Elboron said and then delivered the ultimatum. "You will ride with me, torion, if I see you falter."

"I will not," averred Legolas and leaned low over his mount's neck as he nudged her side for speed. They bounded away in the lead and he smiled through the pain, pleased to hear the thunder of hooves as the others followed. Soon Elboron caught up and abreast they crossed over into the stronghold, a bright blare of trumpets heralding their return.

  
The healers kept him an entire day and night but Legolas was not inclined to grouse at his confinement. His father came and spent the time with him, reading to him, challenging him to strategy games or cards to chase away boredom, although Thranduil was no stranger to his son's moods and knew well this was not the cause of Legolas' discontent. At last he coaxed the truth out and Legolas had been only too glad to reveal the source of his hurt and disappointment: Not one of his friends had come by the infirmary to visit him. Thranduil enumerated the reasons, noting Legolas' deepening ill humour to hear of obligations to mates, lovers, or family. 

He drifted into restless reverie as Ithil reached its zenith and Thranduil watched over him, concerned but patient. Legolas would seek him out only when he had thoroughly examined his dilemma from every imaginable angle and arrived at his chosen resolution. Then it would be his father's counsel he craved, needing to hear confirmation of his wisdom or rational reasons not to pursue his plan, along with possible alternatives. The moment arrived far sooner than the worried father expected.

A perfunctory tap on the boards announced Legolas' entrance as he pushed open the door and sauntered into his Ada's study, Thranduil looking up with a smile to see his son in what he internally termed his 'comfort clothes': the loose fitting raw silk pants and tunic worn for training in hand-to-hand combat. Indeed, he knew Legolas slept in them, when he wore anything for sleep, and their appearance bespoke both his unabated weariness and his deep contentment to be home, free of the worry and travail of the mission just completed. A slight frown crossed his brow as Legolas fairly flowed into his favourite chair, exhaling deeply and flopping bonelessly into the deep leather upholstery, raising his bare feet to rest upon the footstool as he glanced toward his father, a hesitant smile only enhancing the depth of exhaustion showing in his eyes.

"Have you time for a brief word, Ada?" he asked.

"Of course," Thranduil got up from his desk at once and poured a small cup of wine for them both, though it was barely the noon hour, and pressed this into Legolas' hands as he sat across from his son in the matching chair. "I always have time for your concerns." He paused, wondering what had his child so melancholy of late, thinking back now to determine how long this bleak mood had dogged Legolas. The estimate his memory supplied caused him a sudden surge of alarm, for it had been months since Legolas' laughter filled this room. "I was going to ask how you feel but the answer is before me," Thranduil said quietly. "I fear you have left the infirmary too soon, ionen."

"Nay, I am improved since this morning. Still, this was one of the most unsuccessful missions I have yet completed," he admitted, "for though I have taken worse wounds, seldom are our sorties so ineffective. Indeed, we gathered no new intelligence at all for our troubles."

"Yet this is not the reason you are here now," said Thranduil shrewdly. He had already had Elboron's report. "Speak your mind, ion, and share this burden."

Another deep-drawn sigh filled the air before Legolas took a taste of the wine and then he made an effort to sit straight, a fleeting glance checking his father's eyes to gauge the monarch's mood.  _Curious and concerned but utterly unsuspecting._  A small grimace tinged his lips and a faint blush crept up to his ears. Really, he had rather wished his Ada would broach the topic himself ere now.  _Can't be helped; I must take hold of my fate and speak out._  So resolved, Legolas took another sip of the drink, for courage, and began.

"Adar, I have passed three-quarters of my second century and am in all ways accepted as an adult among our people, yes?" He did not pause to hear the question answered. "I am one of your best archers…"

"The very best Greenwood has ever seen, save perhaps your grandfather," Thranduil interrupted proudly. That earned him a swift flash of a smile before Legolas pressed on.

"You have no cause to be displeased with my conduct in court, either, and even the old generals respect my opinion where the central regions of the woods are concerned." He hurried on, seeing signs that his father wished to break in once more. "My peers and friends have likewise entered into the fullness of participation in our community, yet I find they have advanced while I have faltered."

"What?" Thranduil had no idea what his son could mean. "On the contrary, you outshine them all in skill, bravery, finesse, and, if a father may say it, beauty and grace."

"I cannot agree with you," Legolas shook his head sadly. "If I am all those things you named, why am I still untouched?" Another sip left him staring into the cup and his voice fell also. "Why am I still unloved?"

"Un… _touched?_ " Senses reeling, Thranduil was struck speechless for a few seconds and could only gape at his child, so forlorn and despondent before him, and then in an explosion of paternal devotion rose and gathered Legolas up to his heart. "Nay, nay, ion, not unloved, never, never unloved," he consoled, slowly rocking Legolas as he pressed a kiss to the loose golden tresses.

"You know what I mean," Legolas murmured against the soft suede of his Ada's tunic, inhaling the comforting scent of fir and leather that clung to his father and defined his concepts of security and belonging. Another unhappy breath left him and he extricated himself from the tight embrace, meeting the worried green eyes resolutely as he announced: "It is time I took a lover."

"Lover?!" the word escaped in a ragged gasp and Thranduil physically startled, gaze sweeping back and forth between the troubled uncertainty in Legolas' eyes. He could not think of what to say; this was nothing he had imagined his son's woes would encompass. Before he could compose any coherent response, Legolas was speaking again.

"Aye, Ada, and since I have not generated anything like romantic interest among the elves I know, I turn to you. In the old days in Doriath, was it not the habit of parents to select a suitable person for their child's first experience of intimacy?" Legolas peered at his father hopefully, heartened that thus far no denouncement of his request had arisen. Of course, he had only just got the words out and it was apparent the idea had never occurred to his Adar. He swallowed. "I want…I need someone to come home to, Ada."

Suddenly Thranduil let go, for he felt his knees going weak, and dropped gracelessly back into his seat. He snatched up the cup and drank deeply, watching his son the while, marking the hopeful anticipation, fearful self-doubt, and open misery so blatantly displayed on the young ellon's expression. Next Thranduil felt shame wash through his soul to have let this matter go so long without discussing it. 

He'd had the raising of Legolas alone, his beloved wife dead when their elfling was scarcely three, and the doting father had not shied from his duty to teach his son of the natural course of life and its means of perpetuation. Nor had he declined to speak of the heart and the needs of the soul, regaling his child with the depth of his love for his beloved mate and stories of their courtship and life together. How, then, had he failed to explain the ways of courting and the obstacles placed before every person of rank? One look at his son was enough to understand: Thranduil had refused to admit his only elfling was grown up at last, soon to be gone from his side in favour of a new love, a new family. Thranduil could barely let the ideas enter his mind without feeling a deep stab of pain and loneliness. He shook his head and made a dark scowl over his selfish neglect, for this was not what served his child best, and reached out to settle a hand upon his son's knee.

"Aye, Legolas, you speak of that which is closest to an elf's heart. I beg you will forgive my reticence to discuss this with you sooner," he began awkwardly. "I can do nothing less than admit this is not something I have given sufficient consideration. I confess it, you have remained a child in my eyes and I am loathe to give you up, but you deserve to know the happiness a loving bond brings." He had to stop as Legolas bounded into his lap and locked those strong archer's arms about his neck.

"Thank you, Ada!" Legolas exclaimed in quiet joy. "I knew you would not fail me." He retreated back to his chair, face flushed and eyes bright, and leaned forward eagerly. "Who shall it be? Can you order someone to be my lover? How will they treat with me? I do not want anyone to come to me in resentment under pain of punishment."

"Ai! Nay, Legolas!" Thranduil stared, aghast that such thoughts were running through his son's mind. "Can you truly think so little of yourself and your appeal to others?"

"What else can I think," Legolas shrugged and slumped back into a dejected heap. "No one has ever so much as asked me to go riding in the woods, much less spend a day at the falls."

Thranduil raised a brow; the falls were Greenwood's traditional trysting place of the young, a secluded and romantic destination for exploration and first attempts at adult pleasures. He had assumed Legolas had gone there, as he had visited the comparable spot in Neldoreth so many centuries ago. That Legolas had not filled the King with sudden discomfort, for he had a fair idea as to why.

"It has naught to do with your allure, pen neth," he announced in abashed tones. "It is my fault."

"What?" Legolas sat up in surprised disbelief.

"Yes. You see, there was an incident involving one of the warriors assigned to sentry duty at my court," he began. "You were not yet an adult, being but forty-five years old, and yet you were already the fairest elf in the stronghold, by far. Most people would not think to dally with such a tender youth, but this guard was the exception."

"Ada, no one has dallied with me," protested Legolas, no small amount of frustration colouring the sentence.

"I know it, ion, but let me continue and perhaps I may shed light on your dilemma. This warrior was boasting of having caught your eye and bold in announcing his plans to have you for himself. He claimed you flirted with him shamelessly and rather than being discreet and informing me, as any respectable elf would do, he bragged of his 'conquest'." Thranduil paused in consternation as Legolas' cheeks flamed crimson and his eyes turned away, those deadly hands fidgeting in his lap. Realisation dawned. "You knew?" A fleeting nod and a glance from woebegone and mortified eyes pushed the comprehension further. "Ai Elbereth, you really  _did_  flirt with him!"

"I am sorry Ada," mumbled Legolas, head hanging low. "I meant no harm. I just hoped for a kiss, nothing more, not then at least." He dared a peek at his father's face, expecting an eruption of anger, but Thranduil's features were lax and his eyes vacant. "Ada?"

"Legolas," Thranduil shook himself, denial forcing the truth away. "You did nothing wrong, son; all young elves flirt. As I said, this much older elf was willing to indulge his lechery and take advantage of your innocence. Needless to say, I convinced him otherwise."

"You, Ada?" Legolas suddenly laughed as relief flooded his heart. "I thought it was something I did, for one day Cemendur was so attentive and friendly and the next he was cold and his words, once flattering and cajoling, became harsh and cutting."

"For that he deserves even more the punishment he received," growled Thranduil, aching inside to think of the pain his young son had endured to be so utterly rejected. "I transferred him to the Southern Patrol, as you may have heard, and in anger he renounced citizenship and immigrated to Lothlorien. Good riddance, say I!" he concluded vehemently but then grew sombre. "I fear my reprisals were well-known as the reprimand I gave him was vocal and public, even as his vain boasting had been. Word travelled quickly that any who sought your favour would earn my wrath. I meant only for others to respect your tender age, not to exclude you from any and all attention."

"Then it is not because there is something repulsive about me?" Legolas was nearly exuberant, his smile wide and filled with hope.

"Certainly not!" Thranduil declared, again rising to draw his son into a firm embrace. "Forgive me for being over-zealous in protecting you."

"It is fine, Ada; I love you for it though I wish we had talked about this long ago. For these last many years I have come to despair of ever having a mate and decided to settle for a lover. Then my efforts in that endeavour failed and I despaired of the cause, deciding there was some flaw in me I could not perceive. Now, with your sanction, all obstacles are removed." Eagerly he sat forward again. "Who, then, shall it be? Am I permitted to express my preferences? Shall we draw together a list? How is it decided; will you simply interview my prospects or set them tasks to complete to determine their worthiness?"

Thranduil smiled and suppressed his mirth, for it was clear his young son had quite a romantic heart, something that had not changed from his elfling days. He sincerely hoped it never would, for so had his wife-mate been and it was a trait he adored. He took a breath and set about answering his son's concerns.

"Tasks are not needed so much as a thorough examination of the elleth's character and family. I would have you find love with someone like your naneth and…"

"Elleth?" Legolas' features contorted in open disgust. "Please, Ada, I have no wish for a maiden."

"You don't?" Thranduil was crestfallen. "What of younglings, ion? Have you no wish for a family of your own to raise and cherish?"

"Nay. I cannot abide the noise and the mess and the loss of freedom elflings bring. Even less can I abide the soft contours of the female form and strange thoughts that occupy an elleth's mind. I am moved by strength and skill, the flex and flow of hard muscles beneath velvet skin, of desire I can both see and touch, a desire like unto my own that I can encompass within…"

"I understand," Thranduil interrupted with desperate speed, holding up his hand to stop this outpouring of fantasy before his son described the culmination of such dreams. A shaky smile adorned his wan visage and he could not hide the disappointment crowding his heart.

"You are displeased," Legolas sat back as he registered this unexpected response. "When I was twenty, you told me how life is renewed among our people and I asked you then about Galion and Carnil, if they would have elflings. You explained that love between like kind does not generate life, but that such romances were not to be hindered or scorned."

"So I did and so I say now," Thranduil nodded. "I just did not realise you were telling me that is the kind of love your heart requires. Ai! I have been a blind fool!" He rose and paced around his study, fuming at his flawed parenting. "So much have I hoped for grandchildren that I would not allow myself to understand you. Legolas, your Adar is a selfish idiot. Can you forgive this oversight?" Distraught for many reasons, the King faced his sole heir with both remorse and sadness.

"Ada!" Legolas at once jumped up and ran to his father, encircling him in strong arms and laying his head upon the broad shoulders. "Of course I can forgive it. I am sorry about the elflings; can you forgive that?"

"Bah! Elboron has an abundance of grandchildren already and they are always underfoot in the stronghold. What have I to miss?" he embraced Legolas and then held him out before him. "Your happiness is everything to me. We will find the right mate for you."

"Thank you, Ada!" Legolas whooped and raced to the desk, snatching up a quill and parchment. "Let us prepare a list of eligible suitors."

"Patience!" exhorted Thranduil. "You are an elf of such high standing, in addition to your attractive appearance and noble character, that we must be cautious. Many will have interest but for base reasons. I will not see your heart wounded."

"Ada, I would not name anyone who would treat me so," objected Legolas. He lowered himself into his Ada's chair behind the desk, unwilling to forego preparing his roster of candidates.

"Forgive me, ion, but you are entirely naive in this regard. You think everyone is motivated by good. Permit me some time to make inquiries and investigate the prospects I deem worthy of your attention; then we will compare your list and mine."

"But, Ada, I…" Legolas was interrupted by a brusque knock on the door, not the one opening into the corridor of the King's private suite but the one leading out to his council chambers, offices, and the throne room.

The King admitted his seneschal, Galion, who bowed in apology upon seeing Legolas with his Lord.

"Forgive me, Legolas, Aranen, but the delegates have arrived from Dale and bring unexpected visitors along. I fear your presence is required, Hîren."

"What visitors?" demanded Thranduil.

"Folk from Imladris, Aranen," Galion intoned with appropriate dramatic flair. The surprise on the royals' faces was gratifying and he nodded sagely,answering the next query before it could be voiced. "The twin Peredhil Lords and a human, possibly some page or distant kinsman who attends them."

"Unexpected, indeed," groused Thranduil, settling his hand on Legolas' shoulder to prevent his arising from the seat, anticipating the excited curiosity this would generate in his son's thoughts. "Nay, you need not participatein this audience, especially so underdressed. If they remain, you will have ample opportunity to meet them soon enough." He bent and pressed a kiss upon Legolas' forehead, regretting the abrupt end of their talk but unable to avoid it. "Forgive me, we will resume our discussion on the morrow."

"Surely it will not take all the day to see to this," protested Legolas, though he knew it probably would. "I will remain here that we may continue once you are free."

"I am sorry, ion," Thranduil sighed as he followed Galion to the door. "It very well may. You have waited this long, one more day can be endured, yes?" He smiled from the threshold, hand on the latch.

"Aye," Legolas forced a smile and the door closed. With a heavy heart he set aside his quill and pushed the parchment from him, slouching in the chair. Of course he understood; the delegation from Dale was important and negotiations with the men were always prickly and delicate undertakings. He knew from past years that often Thranduil was pushed beyond exasperation by their demands and the conference dragged on for weeks. His heart had no choice but to wait.

"But I am so very lonely," he whispered to the empty room and buried his head upon his arms.

TBC

* * *

 **Glossary:**

Ernilen - My Prince

Elboron - Brave Star

toradar - brother-father, uncle

torion - brother-son, nephew

ellon - male elf

elleth - female elf

Cemendur - Servant of the Earth

Carnil - Red Star

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.


	2. Chapter 2

Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

  by erobey | un-beta'd |  _Italics=thoughts_

#### Chapter Two: Unexpected Visitors

The journey down the River Trail from Lake-town to the Enchanted River and thus to Ennyn Othronn uin Orod-Neth'elaith (Great Gates of the Underground Fortress of the Mountain amid the Trees) was conducted under armed escort by a contingent of woodland warriors which grew progressively larger as the entourage approached the hidden city. The archers were not threatening in an overt way, in that their bows, while tightly clasped in hand, remained lax, but there were at least two Wood Elves for every Man from Esgaroth and Dale, and four to accompany the Elves from Rivendell and their human companion: two for the man, one for each of Lord Elrond's twin sons. There could be no doubt that the folk of the forest were both assertive and adamant regarding who had leave to wander at will within their woods and who must have the brevet of Thranduil to do so. 

The five delegates from Dale abjured to this less than congenial welcome with sullen silence and grim forbearance, having immediately produced the actual document, bearing the signature and seal of the Elven King, authorising their trespass under the eaves. Their leader, one Baragûr, had handed it over the instant the first warrior materialised on the path before them. He knew better than to attempt to stand upon his dignity or engage in any argument with the woodland warriors, who would hear him not and tended to break into song should complaining and grousing begin. Not that Baragûr, or any of the men of Dale, was disposed to voice grievances to the rank and file of the King's elite troops, having better manners than that. And, he would add privately and far from the hearing of the sylvan people, better manners than the elves of the woods. 

The single emissary from Lake-town, inexplicably named Andaith, was unwilling to accept the military chaperone graciously and was disposed to remark repeatedly that it was insulting to be treated as little better than a prisoner. He expounded at length on the lack of deference the sylvan archers expressed for his esteemed presence, grumbled about the pace of the march, demanded to speak to the superior officer, if there was any such person of rank at hand, and nearly every fifteen minutes exhorted the sons of Elrond to impose the weight of their august heritage upon the 'minor moriquendi of Mirkwood' and do something about it. 

Elladan and Elrohir merely smiled and shrugged whenever this loathsome individual directed his irritating barrage of bellyaching their way while the Wood Elves felt compelled to conduct the majority of the journey singing, with the end result, in Aragorn's view, that it was rather a merry trip overall.

The young man had never been in this region of the world before and was in fact only just beginning to explore the lands beyond the sedate and protected borders of Rivendell, where he had been raised under the watchful guidance of his mother and the great Lord himself, Elrond Half-elven. Against her wishes, the Lord of Imladris had at last revealed to Aragorn his true name and his true heritage and what his place in the great history of Arda really was meant to be. Before then, and for all of his life he could recall, Aragorn had simply been called Estel, and while he was excited and awed to know he was a descendant of such exalted lineage, it was still sometimes hard to think of himself that way. 

This was especially true now, as Elladan and Elrohir had counselled him sternly not to reveal his rightful name and identity among any but the Rangers of Eriador. He understood the reasoning given but still found it exasperating to have this novel alter-ego to explore and develop only to be told he must not. How was he to learn and grow into this weighty role if he was never permitted to shoulder the responsibility of being a man, fully come of age and mature in the eyes of his people? The younger Lords of Imladris had accompanied him everywhere he wished to go thus far and he was coming to resent their presence as unnecessary and even debilitating. 

Yet, now that they were here in the dark and gloomy realm of Mirkwood, Aragorn found he was not unhappy to have his brothers along, for while the Wood Elves were jolly enough and their music was gay, boldly witty, and often daringly risqué, beneath all the frivolity coursed a wild and untamed spirit that might decide at any time that these strangers were not welcome after all. Only someone as stupid as the delegate from Lake-town would fail to comprehend that those bows could be armed in seconds, the intruders disposed of before any defence could be raised. Even the trees seemed watchful and wary and Aragorn had the impression there were far more sylvan archers present than even the keen senses of Elladan and Elrohir could detect.

The party reached a checkpoint of sorts, marked in no manner Aragorn could recognise, and the warrior beside him called for what was in effect a change of the guard. From both sides of the track and even from the trees above them, sylvan elves flowed into the group and mingled with the warriors escorting the visitors. The singing ended and the elves switched to conversing in a variety of elvish that was only marginally Sindarin. Aragorn had never heard anyone speaking it and could understand next to nothing, but a glance at his brothers indicated they were not so much in the dark. A look of surprised and suppressed amusement passed between them and Aragorn nudged his horse closer to demand a translation.

"What are they saying?" he asked, smiling in advance of the joke. "And how is it you can understand them while I cannot?"

"They express their opinion regarding the noble bearing of our comrade from Esgaroth," said Elladan with a malicious grin.

"We can understand much of what they say for their speech is similar to that spoken among the Galadhrim of Lorien," added Elrohir. "It is not common except among these sylvan folk and thus you were never instructed in it."

"There was no need for they all speak beautiful Sindarin with the most alluring accent," added Elladan, his expression suddenly more welcoming and genuine as he caught the eye of one of the new elves taking over the convoy. A bright smile and a jovial welcome hailed from this person as he made his way to the twins.

"Ela! Elladan ar Elrohir, tultâ di gwa-lassiê." he called. (Behold! Elladan and Elrohir, come under the leaves.) "It has been many long years since last you paid a visit to Greenwood. You were not expected and we've had no word of your coming here."

"Suilad, Elboron," answered Elrohir. "We were not planning on it, but there is news we would share with your brother and since we were in Dale, it seemed best to throw in our lot with these worthy folk. Will you be our guide for the rest of this trek?"

"I will." Elboron's gaze found its way to Aragorn. "You are not like the other men," he said simply. "How are you called and what place do you name home?"

"I am Ar…"

"This is Estel, raised in Imladris in our father's house and a distant kinsman," Elladan quickly interrupted. "He is one of the elf-friends of Eriador."

"Well met, Estel of Imladris," the warrior dipped his head politely to Estel and lifted a speculative brow to the twins all at the same time. "Elboron o Gladgalen greets you."

"Oh, so very modest you have become in your old age," Elrohir laughed and landed a companionable slap upon the warrior's shoulder. "Do not be misled, Estel; this is the King's brother and a prince of the woodland realm."

"Indeed?" exclaimed Andaith, looking the warrior up and down in surprise for to his eye there was no difference between him and the rest of the archers milling about. "Then you are the one I need to speak with, sir. I must tell you plainly that the treatment we have received is nothing less than appalling. I have never been forced to endure such insolence and disrespect. Your soldiers cannot be bothered to answer when addressed nor attend to the simplest demand for rest and refreshment. I expect, now that you are here, this will be rectified immediately."

"He does not speak for me," Estel hastened to say, "nor for any man here save himself. We have been accorded every courtesy possible and serenaded almost every step of the way." He bowed his head in deference and was gratified to see a gleam of mirth in Elboron's eyes.

"What?" sputtered the tedious emissary. "Of course I speak only for myself and Baragûr of Dale. This person has nothing to do with Lake-town and obviously has no reason to expect to be treated as befits a noble of…"

"Baragûr of Dale speaks for himself," announced that very person tersely, eyeing his fellow delegate with great disfavour. He wanted to just order the man to be silent but hadn't the authority to make it work. Fortunately, others present were not so disabled regarding agency. 

"Of course, Baragûr, I only meant…"

"Brûn flad-en-gwaew, pedich farn," interrupted Elboron and directed the full force of his ancient eyes upon the hapless man.The weight of that gaze and the penetrating quality of the soul behind them was sufficient to at last silence him. "If you cannot hold your tongue, I will have one of my warriors remove it and hold it for you." He dismissed the man with a curt wave of his hand and at once an archer came and led him away to the back of the caravan.

"Your pardon, Ernil Elboron," said Baragûr as he bowed in his saddle. "Esgaroth is a free city and not under the direct authority of Dale, else he would not have been chosen for this council."

"Nay, Baragûr, since he is not under your jurisdiction, there is nothing for which you need apologise to me," grinned Elboron. "I expect we will not be troubled by his voice until he is given leave to address the convocation."

"Thank Elbereth for that," intoned Elrohir.

"Ah, but the Wood Elves have drowned him out with such sweet song I almost hate to shut him up," complained Elladan. "How may we convince you to sing for us now?"

"Since we have been entertaining you all this time, at least return the courtesy," called one of the sylvan's merrily.

"Aye, let us have a song of Imladris, Hîren," another cajoled.

"That seems only fair," agreed Elrohir and so as the party set forth again the sons of Elrond lifted their voices in song and Aragorn joined them. 

The remainder of the trip thus concluded enjoyably and before the twilight gathered under the eaves, the party reached the massive gates barring the way to the fortress of the Elven King. It was a sight few mortals were graced to behold and Aragorn committed every detail to memory.

The barrier was not cast of metal as he'd expected nor constructed of wood in the manner of any doors or portals he'd ever passed through. The gate was alive, comprised of two majestic beeches on either side of the road, taller than any of the surrounding trees, each one's girth like the trunks of ten of their lesser relations combined. They were old, giving the impression that they had stood in this place since the hands of Yavanna set them there, and aware as no trees the man had ever encountered. None could approach without experiencing the probing inspection of their sentient souls. Aragorn wondered what they thought of him and whether they noted him at all or simply responded to the Wood Elves, accepting him for their sake.

Across the breadth of the path reached the limbs of these trees, entwined and knotted in such a manner that none could force through, and yet the effect was pleasing to the eye and seemed to make a pattern as would be found in the seal of some great house. Yet it was not a design comprehensible to any life save green life, unless it be the sylvans, and so no outsider would know that this was the crest and insignia of the Spirit of the Great Wood, of which Greenwood was the largest single component remaining and thus the seat of that entity's might and power.

As Aragorn studied all this, Elboron stepped forward and spoke words in the sylvan tongue which every warrior respectfully murmured in kind. Then the trees seemed to answer, the sound not a voice exactly yet neither simply the creaking of limbs in the wind. The rising note resonated in slow and sonorous solemnity as though the tones echoed up from the depths of the soil where the roots of the trees were anchored, and it seemed to the man that the sentiment communicated by this wholly alien mind was one of welcome and high regard. Then the branches of the trees divided, disentangling from one another and drawing back from the path, bending and lifting up and away, opening a space between them so that the expanse of the bridge could be seen. 

Aragorn inhaled a sharp breath and blinked, not sure if the faint light of gloaming was playing tricks with his vision or not, and checked his brothers to see what they made of this sight. It was clear it was nothing new but nonetheless still a thing to give them pause to wonder, and Elladan smiled at Aragorn to confirm it. The bridge looked to be spun of pale silvery silk, the supports as light and airy as a spider's web, the flooring delicate as glass. It glimmered and sparkled as if coated in stardust and one minute seemed substantial, the next an illusion. 

Onto this ephemeral structure the Wood Elves trod without hesitation and not even the hooves of the horses made a sound as they crossed, neither did the bridge waver or dip under the strain of their weight. Seeing this, the man was heartened and did not balk at following them. He reached to trail his hand along one of the lacy threads upholding the span and felt a cold, smooth density as of the finest steel beneath his fingertips. He peered over and spied the sluggish black water of the Enchanted River, its motion marked by ripples of deeper shadow here and there where the inky surface undulated in the current. Much rumour and lore had he heard of this flow and being so near he could not doubt any of it; a shiver ran up his spine.

The crossing took no time and as the last elf passed to the opposite shore of the dark river, the great arms of the sentinel trees re-engaged and locked them in. Aragorn looked back, hearing the groaning of the wood, and again startled in shock, for the bridge was gone. He ran forward to ask of Elboron what magic made such things possible, but as he drew near dared not interrupt, for the prince was addressing his brothers seriously and quietly so that the men of Dale and Lake-town would not hear.

"It is best you know before you meet him, for much sorrow has fallen upon us. Curoniel was lost many years ago and while Thranduil survives, you will not help but note the change in my brother."

"I am sorry to know this," replied Elrohir. "It is a great tragedy, for in truth we had all decided he would never find love at all, and now to have lost her seems too cruel a fate."

"Aye, but he is not fading nor is his spirit darkened, for a child survived and Thranduil lives for his son. You will meet him, of course," Elboron continued.

"That is joyous news," nodded Elladan, "but why has no word of this blessing gone forth from Greenwood?"

"It was meant as no slight, I assure you. Our world has darkened and Thranduil feared for the Necromancer to learn of an heir. Curoniel perished when their babe was little more than three years of age and Thranduil became a fiercely protective parent. Perhaps too protective, but I cannot fault him given the sorrow he has known. If he lost his son, too, Thranduil would fade."

"I can understand that," noted Elrohir. He glanced to Aragorn and motioned him closer. 

Elboron noticed and turned to the man, favouring him with such intense scrutiny that Aragorn blushed and found he could not hold the penetrating stare. "Ai! Forgive my rude behaviour, Estel, I did not mean to cause you discomfort. If I may, what age are you among your people?"

"I am twenty years old, Ernil Elboron," Aragorn answered, uncertain why this was suddenly of interest or whether he was pleased or peeved with the query. For people that were essentially immortal, elves made much ado about how many years a person had yet seen.

"If I recall correctly, this means you have newly achieved the age of maturity?"

"That is true," inserted Elladan, likewise wondering over the prince's interest, "but Estel has little experience of the world beyond Imladris as yet. For this reason we have undertaken to introduce him to the places of import and the people who dwell therein."

"I am to begin learning the ways of my people soon," added Aragorn, "and will join the Rangers of Eriador."

"I see," said Elboron, putting the truth together succinctly, for the House of Elrond always fostered the descendants of Elros Tarminyatur. "No doubt your place among the Rangers will be one of high rank, indeed." He met the twins gazes and smiled at their grim expressions. "This is fascinating news but does not bear on my reasons for asking about you, Estel," he continued. "I was interested because you are more or less a contemporary of my nephew. He will be intrigued by visitors from a distant realm and have a hundred questions, all of which he is too polite to put to his elders. If it would not displease you, young Dúnadan, perhaps you might indulge the curiosity of the prince?"

"Oh! Of course, that would be no burden," Estel smiled, pleased to hear this distinguishing designation addressed to him, and flashed his brothers a smugly triumphant smirk. Before he could enquire further about the King's son, and before Elladan and Elrohir could issue any orders regarding what he should and should not reveal to the young prince, Elboron called orders of his own to move forward and the entourage advanced into the city.

Now Aragorn had been amazed numerous times already on the relatively short expedition but he had to admit to a definite sense of disappointment regarding his first view of the famed underground stronghold. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected, but he supposed he'd thought the mountain in which the lair was delved would be at least as lofty and imposing as the Lonely Mountain on the plains of Erebor. Not so. The Mountain Amid the Trees was barely more than a hill, certainly not tall enough to deter the thick growth of fir and spruce trees which crowned its softly rounded head. Now he understood why he hadn't been able to spy the peak en route; it wasn't some form of elvish magic which hid it from view but the abundance of trees into which it simply vanished.

There was scarcely any distinction between the region surrounding the King's seat and the actual grounds of the royal dwelling. In Imladris, the Last Homely House was well marked, a veritable palace that stood in its own exquisitely landscaped gardens replete with beautiful statuary, fountains, restful meandering pathways, flowers grown for both their beauty and scent, and fronted by a formal courtyard perfectly designed for greeting weary travellers. There was nothing like that here and Aragorn gazed about him, wondering where everyone was for there were no sylvans about save the warriors who had escorted them in, and these were quickly dispersing to locations undisclosed and impossible to divine. 

He caught Elrohir's eye, a baleful and almost pleading light shining in it that made Aragorn scowl. Did his brothers trust so little to the upbringing he'd received? It wasn't as if he was about to make some tactless comment about the lack of refinement in the woodland realm. The man found his patience wearing thin indeed and feared he would have to make a stand against the twins and force them to acknowledge him as an adult. How to do this was perplexing in the extreme for he found they generally knew what his objections were going to be before he did and had ready answers prepared to deliver. What was even more infuriating was that their reasoning was ultimately sound and based on long experience fostering his forebears, a quality he could never match even if he lived as long as Tarminyatur himself.

His inner turmoil was diverted for the time being as an elf approached them rapidly, seeming to materialise out of the darkness, for by now the last of the twilight had dissipated. Aragorn wondered if this was the young prince but was quickly disabused of that notion as Elboron first named him and then greeted him.

"Ah, here is Galion, without whom the workings of the stronghold would grind to a halt. Suilad, mellon, how fares muindoren this eve?"

"Better, now that he has satisfied himself that his beloved child is not on the threshold of Mandos. I thought he was going to have you thrown in the dungeons when he saw those injuries."

"So did I," intoned Elboron. "Now here are the delegates from Dale, delivered safe and sound as I promised, and with them have arrived guests of distinction from afar. Elo! Here are the Lords of Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir, and with them Estel, a man who hails from the fair valley and is counted a citizen of that realm. What do you think? Will we have room for them?"

"What rubbish you speak," Galion fumed, colouring though the dark hid it. He did not like so much jesting in front of mortals, for how were they to know it was but a joke. "Welcome, Lords of Imladris, the House of Oropher is pleased to host the House of Eärendil." The King's seneschal bowed low and spoke graciously, though he was truly not so sure Thranduil would be glad of company during the trade negotiations about to commence. 

He smiled at the twins, unable to determine which was which, noting they looked even more dangerous and intimidating than they had when last they'd been in Greenwood: taller, darker, wearing more mithril mail and black leather and those evil swords at their sides, and judged the rumours about them to be true. It was said they were obsessed with slaughtering orcs and while some might fear for the brothers' sanity, none were willing to stand in their way. Even their horses were fitted for battle as a matter of course and the twins were more particular about how their steeds were treated than what accommodations they received. The man he appraised briefly and dismissed; if Elrond chose to indulge the lesser kindred it was no concern of Galion's.

"Well said, mellon," nodded Elladan, assuming the annoying habit of speaking for everyone. "We are pleased to be once more beneath the bountiful eaves of Greenwood the Great. I beg you will take word to Aran Thranduil that we have news of a serious nature to impart to him."

"I will do so," agreed Galion, "and leave you in the care of Ernil Elboron while I see to the disposition of the men of Dale."

"And Lake-town!" imposed a disgruntled voice behind them. Andaith had boldly advanced to the small knot of elves, determined to assert his authority and receive the attention he so justly deserved. When four sets of discerning and censorious eyes pierced him to the soul, however, he faltered and stopped where he was. "Your pardon," he mumbled, dropping his head low and backing away.

Elrohir could not suppress a chuckle at this display and addressed Elboron. "Ernilen, we will happily follow Your Eminence so that worthy Galion may accord the expected guests the courtesy they merit, especially if there is a bottle of Dorwinion in the rooms to which you may now escort Us." He shared a twinkling glance at Aragorn for he was, of course, playing up his brother's royal 'we'.

"But of course, Your Grace," Elboron delivered an exaggerated bow, for he had to put up with this sort of thing from his elder brother all the time, too. "Come this way and any need or desire you possess will be instantly met."

"Ai Valar," Elladan briefly covered his eyes in chagrin but laughed nonetheless. "Enough, this is what I get for attempting to meet the occasion with due dignity and proper protocol. So be it; every elf, and man, for himself. As eldest, I'll have the largest apartment and the one closest to that lovely grotto where the hot spring is found." 

"Put the notion from your thoughts, muindor; you had it last time and it is thus my turn," contested Elrohir.

"Well, I can see this is leading to another of the famous decision-making sword fights which were so thrilling when last you two were here," laughed Elboron. "If I recall, you are evenly matched and these bouts go on for hours and hours. Really, I can settle it for you now: Estel shall have the grotto suite."

"What?"

"Nay! You cannot give it to him."

"Too late. Elboron, Ernil o Gladgalen, pennen."

All through this light foolery, they were moving through the darkness along a pathway Aragorn could not see and he had to depend on the soft natural glow of the First-born to keep him from stumbling. He wished the Wood Elves were disposed to use torches but guessed the threat of fire prohibited it here in the open. He was wrong; they simply had no need of it, being adapted to see quite well in the gloom beneath the trees. 

Nonetheless, their trajectory curved around the broad base of the mountain and soon a glare of bright yellow streamed out across the way, the close-clustered bolls casting stark black shadows in which were briefly displayed the vague shape of an elf who must have been clinging to the branches, watching the procession. It gave Aragorn the impression of spectres and wood sprites lurking in the trees and he could not help but glance sharply about him. If they were really there, his vision could not penetrate the gloom and he hastened his step to reach the source of the warm light.

He soon discovered that they were nearing the entrance to the stronghold: a huge round opening in the side of the mountain that looked less like the portal into one of the most powerful realms of elf-kind and more like a rude cave in which a pack of dire wolves might dwell. Once inside, there was a long tunnel sloping downward and along this they trod. The deeper they went, the less the place looked like the lair of some wild creature and the more it began to resemble a corridor in a mighty citadel. 

The rough and dusty granite transitioned to smoothly polished stone, the light of torches playing upon the individual minerals of which it was comprised. The walls and floor were cleanly cut, the angles perfect, the ceiling braced with sturdy beams and columns, elegantly carved to resemble living trees. The rock was sculpted, too, with a bold knot-work pattern running in relief at waist height the entire length of the tunnel. After a short time, the passage levelled out and came into a vestibule from which three arched openings led away. Elboron paused and turned to his guests.

"Galion will bring Thranduil to us and so perhaps it would be best to repair to the grotto now and wash away the weariness of travel, if that suits you. We can go from there to my apartment."

"That is the best suggestion I have heard in many months, Elboron," agreed Elladan, "especially if you will have someone bring us a bottle of that fine wine to savour while we soak."

So it was agreed and the prince led them through the furthest door on the left and again the way descended into the bowels of the mountain. They came at length to hear voices and music, laughter and song, and the temperature rose as the air grew humid and thick with a spicy scent of minerals and incense mingling in the heavy atmosphere. Abruptly, the corridor dipped down in a series of broad curving steps and at the end opened into an enormous cavern, natural but enhanced, so that amazing formations of crystals and gems sprouted from the roof and the floor and draped in dramatic curtains along the walls. 

The room was divided into separate areas by virtue of the pools scattered throughout the space, all surrounded by clusters of stone and crystal which formed unique and fascinating barriers between the sections. All was lit in soft subdued lamplight, the flickering flames hidden within the precious stones so that the various spots of illumination gleamed in shades of red and ochre, blue and pale citron, and here and there a luminous violet. Everywhere were groups of elves enjoying the heated spa, some coupled and engaged in what was obviously quite intimate behaviour, shielded from overt observation by the looming formations, the warm and misty fog rolling along the floor, and the muted light. Some were merely sharing a communal soak or reclining on stone benches absorbing the heat and near these groups musicians and singers were situated amid the outcropping rocks, filling the scene with harmonious song. 

It was an inviting environment to say the least and Aragorn realised he was grinning hugely. He tapped Elboron on the shoulder. "You did say my quarters abut this chamber?"

"Hah! Looks like the young Dúnadan recognises the potential here," the prince chortled. "Yes, but your rooms adjoin the private area reserved for Thranduil's family. We are going there now and you will see the added benefit the privacy affords anyone wishing to spend an evening exploring the joys of intimate union."

"Such pretty words," laughed Elladan. "I've not had the benefit of 'intimate union' for more months than I care to reveal and will likely as not fuck the first naked arse I come upon."

"Crude and rude, just as I recall," Elboron shook his head in mock censure. "It must be the influence of the mortal side of your heritage that makes you pursue carnal pleasures so indiscriminately."

"Don't be insulting or I'll have to mention how backwards and primitive sylvan society is, still using stone tools and unable to read and write proper Sindarin," retorted Elrohir, to which Elboron laughed heartily. "Besides, it did not seem to me the Wood Elves back there were practising abstinence, and we aren't indiscriminate. It must be a very fine, soft arse willing to be penetrated deeply and forcefully for a frightfully long time. I seem to recall there are numerous elves among the sylvans who meet that very criteria."

"Yes, I remember that, too," said Elladan, "and fail to comprehend why we have neglected to visit the woodland realm for so many long years."

By this time they had reached a more secluded area, a second and smaller chamber which opened from the massive cavern. The room was just as subtly lighted and more private, for the various pools were partitioned off with woven screens and curtains. There was one large pool for the traditional communal soaking and in this were several elves, all of whom hailed Elboron with joy. It became immediately clear to Aragorn that the prince had many descendants and was much loved by his progeny. He was introduced to them and invited to join in a hunt set for the morrow, to which he agreed. 

After that, Elboron guided them to one of the sheltered baths and bade them soak to their heart's content, promising to come back for them as soon as Thranduil was done with the men of Dale. When pressed, the prince admitted he wanted to get home to his wife-mate and would not be deterred. Thus the Lords of Imladris were left to enjoy the soothing waters alone, but they were not alone for very long. 

From some hidden hallway three elves entered, two females and a male, tall and willowy, exceedingly fair, golden haired, utterly naked, and in the case of the male, blatantly aroused. They brought the promised wine and offered along with it the very service Elrohir had so colourfully described. The three brothers declined for the time being but reserved the privilege of accepting this generous offer later when their conference with the King was over. When the triad of alluring and eager pleasure-seekers had gone, the visitors regarded each other in silence for a few seconds before Aragorn could hold his questions in no longer.

"Courtesans?" he asked, half in shock and half in prurient delight, his words couched low lest the elves out in the communal pool overhear him.

"Aye," said Elladan. "Here there is an entire class of society engaged in this pursuit, much as there are glass-blowers and metal-smiths. Or rather, stone-workers," he snorted.

"Elbereth, I had no idea," whispered Aragorn. "And here I was thinking what a miserable place this was going to be. Why didn't you tell me?"

"To be honest, we forgot," Elrohir shrugged. "We've not been here in over three centuries, Estel, and we've had other things on our minds."

"And they do not care that this is their status in the woodland realm?" asked the ingenuous young man.

"Nay, why should they?" asked Elladan. "It is an honourable calling and one of personal choice. No one is forced to undertake that livelihood and acceptance into the profession is limited and competitive. I remember now that my melethron last time had waited nearly fifty years before being chosen."

"Amazing," murmured Aragorn. He leaned back and let the hot water soothe away the strain of the journey, imagining the days ahead with great anticipation. So vivid was his interior landscape that he completely forgot every other reason he had for being in Greenwood.

TBC

NOTE: Now we have had the chance to meet Aragorn and enjoy his perspective on the woodland realm. I hope it is fairly clear this is a young and inexperienced Aragorn, chaffing a bit under his brother's over-protective inclinations, and not the worldly wise ranger we meet in Fellowship of the Ring. Don't worry, our two heroes will meet very very soon. :D

* * *

**Glossary:**

Baragûr - Fiery-heart

Andaith - a mark denoting a long sound for a vowel.

Ela! Elladan ar Elrohir, tultâ di gwa-lassiê - Behold! Elladan and Elrohir, come under the leaves. ( a traditional sylvan greeting in primitive elvish)

Brûn flad-en-gwaew, pedich farn - Old bag of wind, you speak enough (you talk too much)

melethron - male lover

Ernilen - My Prince

Elboron - Brave Star

 


	3. Chapter 3

Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

  by erobey | un-beta'd |  _Italics=thoughts_

#### Chapter Three: A Misunderstanding

"Forgive my delay in greeting you properly, but we were not anticipating visitors from Imladris," Thranduil said, fists propped on his hips, legs planted firmly shoulder's-width apart, intense green eyes peering at the twin sons of Elrond with irrepressible interest and just a hint of aggravation, completely oblivious to the ink stain marring the left cuff of his fine brocade tunic and the quill adorning the hair above his ear where he'd hastily stuck it when Legolas arrived in his study.

Aragorn noticed. Valiantly he tried to prevent his eyes from wandering to the fine white goose feather intruding upon the circlet of slightly wilted and rather mangled golden coreopsis blooms resting in a position on the King's brow that was just enough off-centre to suggest it had been yanked off and slapped back on numerous times through the course of the day. 

He did not want to be thought rude or give the appearance of disparaging the Elven King, who had greeted him politely and with the same degree of esteem with which he addressed the twins. Thranduil had even offered the traditional handshake readily and with a smile that was both pleasant and appraising, his clear emerald eyes at once open and searching. He made his decision regarding Aragorn quickly, like his brother, and thereafter referred to Aragorn as 'young Dúnadan' and did not bother to address him as Estel at all.

All of this did much to set the man at ease for he'd been somewhat nervous about meeting the legendary monarch. In truth, he found Lord Celeborn much more intimidating and removed. That surprised him, considering the rumours he'd been told of Thranduil and the fact of his personal loss related by Elboron.

"We are the ones who should make apologies and do so, sincerely," Elladan said graciously as he bowed low. "The information we have is too important to await the proper diplomatic channels to arrange for its delivery."

"Neither would we wish to entrust the news to a messenger, for too often in these troubled times our couriers meet with tragic ends and their dispatches are confiscated," added Elrohir, offering an identical bow.

"Then it is grave word you bring me," frowned Thranduil, "and I had best hear it forthwith. Follow me, for this place is too public." So saying he strode from the stark and imposing throne room in which he'd initially thought to grant the Imladrian nobles audience, his pace brisk and purposeful and fast enough to make his guests lengthen their own strides to accommodate his speed.

Aragorn found himself marching alongside Galion and was grateful for it. The underground palace, and he felt right in calling it that now, was a veritable warren of tunnels, passages, unexpected stairways, and winding corridors that skirted the rim of a deep abyss, perplexingly well-lit by a series of buttressed torches of immense size, into which he really preferred not to look. The Mountain Amid the Trees was seemingly hollow in its heart and the many rooms of the fortress essentially ringed this cavity. The man made certain Galion retained the outer position next to this dizzying expanse of light-filled space, which placed him safely against the solid mass of the mountain. 

Thankfully, the King was not going too far and quickly led the way into a hall that ran back into the bulk of the rock. A few more twists and turns and he was opening the door to a well-appointed and comfortable study, complete with a crackling fire in the inviting hearth. Yet, no sooner had Thranduil taken a step within than he halted, motioning everyone back as a soft and gentle chuckle left his lips.

"Wait here but a moment, mellyn," he whispered, eyes bright with a smile that transformed his features. He eased off his shoes and crept into the room with extreme stealth, approaching the collection of chairs and sofas drawn before the hearth. There he bent and gathered something in his arms, murmuring low so that his words were not intelligible.

Peering over his brothers' shoulders to see, Aragorn realised the King was carrying someone, the elf clearly asleep though he'd stirred enough upon being lifted to wrap his arms round Thranduil's neck, face buried against the monarch's shoulder. The man caught a glimpse of graceful, long-fingered hands, slender bare feet, and a bright swath of golden hair spilling into the air where it swayed with the rhythm of his bearer's gait. Other than this Aragorn could not determine much but had the impression the elf was male and dressed in loose, informal garb. 

He caught Elrohir's eye and found there a knowing leer complete with arched brow and wolfish grin. Aragorn let his incredulous gaze pose wordless challenge and Elladan responded, a faint nod affirming Elrohir's deduction: the King was not above availing himself of Greenwood's courtesans. 

Thranduil, meantime, had carried the elf through a second door and was now returning, having quietly shut the heavy oaken portal behind him. He was still overwhelmed with amusement and obvious affection for the scene he'd come upon and motioned his guests inside, still smiling.

"That was Legolas," he announced, "whom you will all have the opportunity to meet later. You must excuse this mild impropriety; I really hadn't thought he would still be here and seeing him in repose, I hadn't the heart to make him wake and greet you now. He's only just completed a most rigourous assignment and hasn't fully recovered."

"Of course, but is he likely to be disturbed by our speech? I would not want to rob him of much needed rest," said Elladan, thinking 'rigourous assignment' was the most pretentious euphemism for sexual intercourse he'd ever heard.

"Nay, have no concerns for that. I've taken him to my bed-chamber and that is quite thoroughly insulated from sound by the ingenious use of an interior fountain. I'll have to show you how it works; it is rather like having a private waterfall in one's room. There is another one in the library on the lower level and the two are connected. At any rate, all he'll hear is the soothing music of cascading water," Thranduil explained with pride, obviously quite pleased to have visitors to impress with his uniquely crafted home.

Galion handed him his shoes, which made Thranduil snort in self-deprecating mirth, and then directed the guests to sit, moving deeper into the room to procure a decanter of dark red wine and enough glasses for all. When everyone was served he offered a sylvan toast: 'Tawar min Beria' and then took a seat himself. Obviously, he served the King in a similar capacity to that which Lord Erestor afforded Elrond and was a trusted and valued advisor. Elboron just as clearly had defined boundaries to his obligations and placed home and family first, when he was not on patrol, and had returned to his wife-mate once depositing the visitor's in his brother's presence. Thus, only King and Councillor turned expectant eyes upon the foreign nobles.

Elladan decided that was his cue. "We have journeyed north from Isengard across Rohan, skirting Emyn Muil to the Brown Lands. Thence we circled Greenwood and came up by the River Running into Erebor. Before crossing those wastes, and based on counsel from Curunir, we made a reconnaissance of the Enemy's holdings, scaling the heights of Emyn Muil to look down upon his blasted realm of smoke and ash." 

"Of course, the distance is too great and Ered Lithui too tall to perceive what activity goes on there," Elrohir took up the tale. "Yet the wizard's warning was alarming enough that we decided to lay in wait there in the jagged crags and cliffs beyond Rauros. Alas, Curunir's intelligence is accurate: We spied a dark rider on a black horse galloping over the plains toward the forest."

"Nazgûl?" demanded Thranduil, his spine stiffening and his face clouding with anger.

"We believe so, your Majesty," Aragorn replied. "No mere man makes the skin crawl and the heart quail as mine did when this apparition sped by beneath our hiding place."

"It is going to Dol Guldur," growled Galion as he rose and stalked with barely restrained fury to the sideboard. He leaned on it in frustration and remained silent, struggling to master his emotions.

"Aye, there can be no other destination," sighed Thranduil. "Ten years grace, not even enough to route out the orcs still lurking in that accursed tower, and now we must suffer this vile evil in our lands once more."

The three brothers remained silent, having no means to refute these comments, and in due time Galion returned to the group and cast himself into his seat, eyes blazing and face flushed.

"There was only the single one?" he asked.

"Aye," said Elladan, "but the White wizard believes others will follow, bringing with them orcs and Uruks from Mordor."

"Uruks!" exclaimed Galion, and momentarily lost his train of thought, but Thranduil was wise and understood the gist of his reasoning.

"What of the White Council? We united once to depose the Necromancer and we may prevent this invasion of Nazgûl if we act quickly," he remarked.

"To this we cannot answer," admitted Elrohir in chagrin. "You are the first with whom we have shared this knowledge. Word must be sent to Lorien and Imladris and we plan to head to the Golden Wood on our way back home."

"We thought it best to give you at least this much warning," added Aragorn, "until the White Council can convene and draw up some plan to unseat the Wraiths."

"That may take months," groused Galion. "By then they'll be entrenched and we'll have to mount a siege. If we move now and strike a definitive blow, take back the tower and scatter the orcs, then the Enemy will reconsider his plan."

"I agree," said Elladan, "but we are not at liberty to commit the forces of Lorien, Isengard, Mithlond, or even of Imladris. That is a decision for the respective councils of those separate lands to make. Even convening the White Council will take time. I fear any aid may be nearly a year in coming."

"If not more," added Elrohir.

"If at all," murmured Thranduil.

"What of the folk in Erebor?" asked Aragorn. "Surely this is as much a threat to them and the people would wish to join forces with Greenwood."

"Hah! They do not see it that way," announced Galion, draining his cup and instantly refilling it. He was highly agitated and made no attempt to conceal his disgust. "They deem this an 'elvish' problem in that it concerns one variety of immortal in contest with another. The men of Dale and Lake-town are not inclined to come to Greenwood's aid, for all they depend upon us for trade and commerce."

"That is ill-conceived logic," droned Elrohir. "What of the woodsmen dwelling in the central regions of the forest?"

"Some are loyal to me," nodded Thranduil, "but most are eager to take sides with anyone who promises them the whole of Greenwood for their own. We believe there is a permanent population of humans living in the tower itself alongside the orcs."

"Ai Elbereth!" exclaimed Aragorn in shock. "That is madness."

"It is," agreed Galion sadly, "but the fools have long been servants of the darkness, even before migrating here. Some are from Rhûn, others from as far south as Harad. They do not honour the trees; they do not honour earth; they do not honour themselves. Alas, they worship Sauron and cannot see their folly."

A heavy, gloomy quiet filled the room and where once it had been cheery and cordial now the homey den was burdened with uneasiness and anger. Even the fire hissing in the grate took on a suspicious character and suddenly belched a cloud of pale grey smoke into the room. Galion rose to tend to it and Thranduil stood, too, wandering to his desk where the parchment Legolas had begun lay abandoned, only the heading and two columns set out, with no names inked upon it. He'd waited the entire afternoon, not wishing to begin the task alone, and the doting father smiled sadly as he glanced to the closed door. Whatever action he decreed, Legolas would be caught up in the thick of it, he and his elite comrades of deadly skill and daring.

_Ai, ionen, I am sorry but now may not be the best time to begin a romance._

The idea made him angry, for Legolas gave so much and asked so little in return. Abruptly he ripped the bedraggled crown of summer flowers from his brow and cast it down upon the desk, landing his palm atop it with a loud thump. A great sigh moved his shoulders and he lowered himself into the chair slowly as fury gave way to resigned determination. For some minutes he remained still, elbows propped upon the table, the heels of his hands covering his eyes, and then he roused himself. With effort he subdued his show of despair and returned to his guests, offering an apologetic smile.

"It is dire news indeed, but let it not be said that Thranduil faults the messenger for the tidings delivered. Whatever woe is about to beset us, it is none of your doing, noble mellyn from Imladris. I beg you will remain long enough to refresh yourselves and enjoy the hospitality of Greenwood before you go. We are pleased to host you here for as long as you would choose to stay."

They were gracious words and the sons of Elrond responded at once, standing and bowing as they spoke their gratitude. Yet they heard the courteous dismissal in the King's tone and realised he had need to discuss this news with his own people. They excused themselves and left the study.

"He took it well," remarked Elladan quietly, leading the way back to their chambers. 

"Aye, yet I would imagine the trade negotiations will be curtailed in light of this new threat," Elrohir added. "He will want those men gone since they have no intent to aid him."

"Mayhap when they realise this, and that they stand to lose the benefit of Thranduil's gold, the men of Dale will rally," suggested Aragorn. His brothers shared an incredulous glance between them which they then turned upon their young kinsman. Aragorn conceded sheepishly. "Aye, well, it was a hopeful thought. Baragûr does not seem a wholly obnoxious and self-serving sort. Not all men are so opportunistic. I would gladly stay and aid the King."

"We know, Estel, and so would we," rejoined Elrohir, "but our path carries us elsewhere."

"Need it do so?" asked Aragorn. "This is a cause that bodes ill for Lorien, too. Dol Guldur looks down upon Caras Galadon and Lord Celeborn is unlikely to appreciate Wraiths on his very borders."

"Again, we do not disagree," answered Elladan, "but someone must carry this dire knowledge to him and to the rest of the elven realms. We cannot entrust it to a messenger. Our plan was to remain two days and no more; to this we must hold."

"Why?" demanded the man. "The Nazgûl will know Curunir watches Mordor constantly and likely as not expect he has already sent word to Lorien and Imladris at least. We are needed here, muindor, and I am loathe to turn my back on these wild elves. It feels wrong." He halted in the corridor and grabbed at Elladan's arm to make him stop. "Look me in the eye and tell me you do not feel a coward to deliver this news and go."

"Aye, it feels wrong," admitted Elladan with a sour scowl, "but our duty is to protect you, not the woodland folk. Allowing you to become embroiled in the affairs of Greenwood does not serve that purpose. You cannot ask us to knowingly put you in harm's way."

"No more do I," Aragorn said, standing tall. "I am a man full grown in my own right and do not need your leave. I am free to offer my sword in service to Thranduil if it pleases me."

"Elbereth, Estel, now is not the time to assert your independence," complained Elrohir. "This is not your fight."

"Too true, brother, for it is everyone's fight. We know why Sauron sends his dread captains here. We know what he seeks in the valley of Anduin. Do as you will; for myself, I cannot just let him find it without posing opposition. I will stay if the King will have me. Mayhap I can convince these lacklustre men to see reason and ally with Greenwood." Aragorn pushed past the twins and stomped away down the hall, rather disappointed in his brothers. Yet he had not travelled more than ten paces before they were at his side, each one draping an arm across his shoulders, grinning in that frightening way they did whenever the prospect of killing orcs presented itself.

"Now, Estel, do not run off all incensed and indignant," soothed Elrohir.

"Aye, did you really think we would turn from a fight like this?" Elladan chimed in.

"Well, yes, since that is what you told me to do." Aragorn looked from one to the other in confusion. "You will stay, then?"

"Aye, we will stay. We just wanted you to make the decision on your own," answered Elrohir.

"And are quite proud of the definitive way in which you stood up to us and made it," Elladan concluded, giving his young kinsman a hearty slap on the back. "Now, as we face gruelling days of hardship and battle ahead of us, I suggest we return to that lovely grotto and find some of those inviting sylvan rumps within which to spend our desires."

"That is the finest idea I have heard in many a long day," agreed Aragorn, features resolving into a broad grin of hungry craving. "Do you suppose I could ask for that fair wisp of a thing Thranduil carted off to his private suite? He certainly raised a smile on the King's face."

"You want a male?" Elladan was surprised.

"Why not?" Aragorn shrugged. "I see no reason to spurn such an intriguing person just because of his sex. There are delights to be had with both sexes."

"I don't dispute you, Estel, I simply did not know you were so ecumenical in your tastes," his brother laughed.

"Or that you could see enough of him to judge his worth," Elrohir added.

"It was the hands, very long and delicate," said Aragorn, "and the golden hair, and the pale, creamy skin of his slender feet. I've the desire to see the rest. Besides, if he is favoured by the King he must be special indeed."

"Even so, I doubt that one is ready for more," laughed Elrohir. "It would seem Thranduil used him quite thoroughly to promote such a deep slumber."

"Aye, give me someone fresh and eager to be ridden," remarked Elladan. "I don't want anyone with whom I must be delicate and gentle, at least not tonight. Now then, here is where we divide and conquer, for this is one activity I have no desire to share with either of you."

With this agreement made, they parted ways and went prowling for prey of a most enjoyable sort. Yet while he made enquiries on Legolas' whereabouts, none of the courtesans had seen him that day and Aragorn ended up with a fair maid instead. Though he was not about to complain of the quality of her company, the fact that he had been deprived of his first choice made him crave it all the more.

The man rose early to join the promised hunt and was pleased to see Elboron and his wife along as well. Surely the King's brother would know where Thranduil's little golden prize was hidden. Yet the vivacity of the sport kept them from conversing as the quarry was a wily and fierce boar who had been growing fat and bold as he aged. It took some time to chase him down and slay him, as the woodland folk hunted on foot without the aid of hounds and only used spears, so to give the animal some semblance of a fair chance. 

The kill went to one of Elboron's distant grandchildren and a feast was immediately declared to celebrate both the daring deed and the presence of such distinguished visitors under the trees. With the return trip less strenuous and hectic, Aragorn at last had opportunity to quiz Elboron.

"Where to find Legolas, that is the eternal question that rings through the stronghold," he laughed, "for Thranduil asks after him constantly. Legolas tends to escape into the trees when he needs to be alone and keeps a talan close to the mountain. Normally, he would attend the hunt but in this case was much too sore to participate. He will be at the feast, though, and I will gladly introduce you then."

This was such promising news in every way that Aragorn did not bother to ask anything else, imagining the meeting and what would transpire after the feast. 

Elboron did not find it odd, thinking Aragorn had asked out of simple curiosity. He did wonder a bit when, upon returning to the stronghold, Elladan came to him and also asked about his nephew. He gave the elder twin a similar reply to that which he had tendered to the man. As the evening wore on and the second of Elrond's sons presented himself and inquired after the prince, Elboron was positively flabbergasted, especially since Elrohir asked plainly if Legolas was exclusive to anyone in particular. 

Replying in the negative, the King's brother mistakenly thought his nephew had inspired two worthy suitors and an honourable mortal friend and hastened to inform Thranduil of this development. That puzzled the King, for he knew the three visitors had not had more than a quick glimpse of his son. Nevertheless, it was something to think about and he made plans to address the subject with Legolas at the first opportunity. The stage was thus set for a misunderstanding of towering magnitude.

Aragorn was in high spirits as he took himself along the winding passageways through the bowels of the mountain down to the grotto and the steaming pools. He wanted to be refreshed and resplendent when he met Legolas, thinking he had to compete with Thranduil's physical beauty and undeniable virility. Of course, he shouldn't be worried about pleasing a courtesan; it was the courtesan's job to please him, but still he did not want to be found wanting in any respect. The King had worn the ellon out to the point of forcing him to refrain from any strenuous activity for the whole of the day after their encounter. That was a rather intimidating performance to follow.

He neared the private bathing rooms of the royal family and smiled as he heard the strains of flute and lyre mingling with the soft voices of an elvish trio. Just as he was about to enter, out came the maiden with whom he'd spent such an enjoyable few hours the previous night. She was clothed in a long loose gown of pale yellow silk and smiled as she enveloped him in a warm embrace.

"Have you need of me, Hîren?" she asked.

"Nay, not at the present," grinned Aragorn, hugging her back as tight as he could. She was soft and supple and warm in all the right places and his errant body immediately responded. She giggled and withdrew, giving his crotch a playful little pat. 

"Then I'll take my leave. Oh, and Legolas is here soaking to ease those nasty bruises so he can dance at the feast tonight."

"Bruises?" Aragorn was stunned. He knew this kind of thing went on but hadn't imagined it was the sort of sex-play Thranduil would like. Then again, he'd just met the monarch and knew nothing about him besides rumour.

"Aye, but he says he's feeling much better tonight. You did say you wanted to meet him?"

"I did…I do," Aragorn stuttered.

"Well, make certain to reveal your presence before entering. Sometimes Legolas just wants his privacy and I get the feeling this is one of those times," the serene geisha hinted. With a polite nod she left Aragorn to ponder these words.

The man hesitated. He was not interested in rough antics like this. Yet, perhaps Legolas would be glad of a softer, more romantic style of love-making. Should he take this chance and avail himself of Legolas' services now? Surely it would be best to wait until he was recovered fully. On the other hand, he didn't want anyone else to engage the ellon for the night. Aragorn decided he must at least secure the elf for later and hoped to learn something more of him, even if all they did was talk and soak. He gathered his resolve, heart, and other less esoteric aspects of his anatomy, leaping at the prospect of finally getting to see this alluring creature.

Inside the King's private grotto the lights were muted and glowing in a lustrous shade of indigo. The musicians were playing a sultry and seductive tune, the lyrics sung in that obscure dialect making it sound quite exotic and exciting. Aragorn could see no other elves present and at first feared he had missed his chance, but as he walked deeper into the more sheltered alcoves, a soft sloshing of water caught his ears. Unconsciously, he slowed and approached with caution, making sure the soft soles of his felt slippers made not the faintest tell-tale scraping against the stone. Why, exactly, was uncertain save that he wanted to have a peek at his would-be paramour before revealing his presence. Perhaps it was the notion of pain intruding into what was meant to be supremely pleasurable that was daunting. In any case, he crept upon the scene of muffled susurration and paused where a lovely cascade of crystal-studded stone partially obscured a small chamber.

Pale yellow light flowed out and mingled with the external cerulean gleam, producing a lovely viridian aura that undulated gently and gave the setting a slightly surreal and dream-like quality. Aragorn edged forward and peered around the ruffled edge of the outcrop. The elf was reclining in the small pool with his back to the entrance so his face was mostly obscured, but the long mane of golden hair poured over the rim of the basin and pooled on the floor, glistening where the light got caught in the mist clinging to the strands. What was even more fascinating and made the man grin in delight was the unmistakable motion of one of the long lean arms, vigourously pumping and thus creating the sibilant swash of mineral-rich water. The elf was plainly pleasuring himself, lost in the sensation and the fantasy fuelling it, oblivious to his audience, and Aragorn simply could not resist getting a better view of such a tantalising show.

He stole closer, entering the room and manoeuvring alongside the low pool, and caught his breath. The ellon was exquisite, from his passion-crinkled brow to the knees poking up through the water, a vision of potential ecstasy that was unbelievably erotic. His eyes were shut and he had his lower lip endearingly captured beneath the upper row of incisors, the teeth just showing their pearly rippled edges. His upper body was exposed and Aragorn took a moment to admire firm pectoral muscles and bright scarlet nipples over which the warm water crested and broke in sloppy little waves. The busy hand and the erection it encircled were disappointingly below the surface and this was the only aspect of the tableau that needed remedy. Without even thinking Aragorn acted on the first idea of how to do this which flitted into his head.

"No one so lovely should perform in solitude. I would be pleased to relive you of such strenuous activity that you might enjoy the experience to the full."

The ellon shot bolt upright, a startled cry fleeing his lips as his hand, no longer hidden beneath the water, grabbed for a dagger that was not there, which was a good thing for Aragorn.

"Who are you?" he shouted, flushed with embarrassed outrage. "Get out of here! How dare you come sneaking in here, spying on me! I'll throttle you, I will!" He leaped from the pool in all his naked glory and in two strides had grabbed up a towel which he hastily wrapped around his waist and the slowly subsiding rosy erection jutting from the crux of his legs. Holding the towel tight in one hand, he advanced upon the intruder.

"Ai! Forgive me for startling you, Legolas," Aragorn hastily backed away as he spoke, smiling in what he hoped was an engaging manner, heart thumping at the wild light in those amazingly blue eyes, "but there is no need to fear. I would not harm you. In fact, I came to secure your delightful company for the evening."

"You came to  _what_?" Legolas stopped, utterly dumbfounded, and looked the man over critically, noting the evidence of a rather imposing arousal pushing out the fabric of the loose robe he wore. It dimly registered that this must be the man attending the sons of Elrond, but he could not focus on that point. "That is…I can't believe you…And how do you know me? Leave at once!" This last phrase he bellowed so loud that the musicians stopped playing and were surely hurrying over to see what was amiss, with the result that it was actually Legolas who fled the scene rather than be found in this mortifying predicament. He darted away, dripping a wet trail behind, racing along the halls to reach his rooms.

TBC

NOTE: I will stop here for now :D There is more to come and I will work on it as I can. Everybody keep me in your thoughts, I'm in a dicey situation just now. Not sure if I will post again before Xmas, but I will try. In case not, Happy Holidays to everyone out there. You guys are the very best and I am so glad of your friendship and continuing support.

* * *

**Glossary:**

Baragûr - Fiery-heart

Andaith - a mark denoting a long sound for a vowel.

Ela! Elladan ar Elrohir, tultâ di gwa-lassiê - Behold! Elladan and Elrohir, come under the leaves. ( a traditional sylvan greeting in primitive elvish)

Brûn flad-en-gwaew, pedich farn - Old bag of wind, you speak enough (you talk too much)

melethron - male lover

Ernilen - My Prince

Elboron - Brave Star

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

# Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

  by erobey | un-beta'd |  _Italics=thoughts_

 

### Chapter Four: The Prince of the Woodland Realm

Legolas ran for about three turnings of the corridor, enough to permit his rattled nerves time to settle and his mind time to reassert control over his instinctive flight. He slowed to a walk and inhaled a deep breath, adjusted the towel, and glanced apprehensively over his shoulder. No one was there. The Man from Imladris would not follow, surely not; he could not be so stupid as that. 

_Yet he was sufficiently obtuse to mistake Thranduil's son for a Seron (courtesan)._

How in all of Mordor had he come to such a conclusion; where had he learned both Legolas' name and his whereabouts? Legolas stopped and turned, listening down the hallway, but heard nothing. At once he spotted the tell-tale track of drips and dibbles marking his passage and frowned. Determined not to meet anyone in his present state of undress, Legolas had chosen a circuitous route through seldom used areas of the stronghold, but the Man would easily trail him if such was his intent.

_Nay, the minstrels will detain him; my loud words enough to raise their curiosity._

He relaxed, a small smile reworking his features as he imagined the questioning the poor mortal was likely to undergo. Two of the singers were Legolas' cousins on his Nana's side and good friends as well. They would probably report the Man's trespass to Galion and the unfortunate human would have to endure a lengthy period of distinctly uncomfortable soul-delving. Galion was gifted in dissecting auras and combing thoughts; he would discover everything there was to know about the young Man before dinner time. Legolas suddenly felt sorry for him. He hadn't actually done any harm and his interest was almost flattering.

_I'm sure he had no idea he was intruding._

He recalled the open admiration and pure, unadulterated desire he'd seen in the comely face, the sweeping gaze that scanned him from head to toes, halting on his rigid cock in evident delight, the light, placating laugh as Legolas covered himself. He remembered the evidence of the Man's prominant arousal, the hard organ eagerly leaning out toward him, pushing at the fabric of the heavy robe. Suddenly Legolas' heart was pounding, his flagging cock rebounding and rubbing in a seriously maddening manner against the damp cotton cloth. Never before had he been the object of such flagrant lust and he discovered this was more than a little exciting.

Oh, he'd been with his share of Seryn (courtesans), but had never proceeded beyond erotic massage and that wasn't the same at all. Even if he had engaged in full intercourse, the Seronath registered identical interest in everyone; there were no favourites. When a Seron found one elf who touched his or her soul as no other could, at that time they stopped being courtesans. Indeed, the desire to share pleasure and give joy was almost a sacred calling, a level of passion beyond the hungers of the body. To discriminate and prefer one elf over another was unthinkable. The Seryn were more like spirit healers and if they were drawn to any it was to those mired in grief, sorrow, or loneliness. 

Legolas sighed; they were always seeking him out these days. He was appreciative but at the same time it was depressing. Didn't anyone want him because he was alluring, daring, and fun?

_This unknown Man quite obviously wanted me, Legolas, specifically and with enough feeling to seek me out._  

That was definitely a point in the mortal's favour. He shivered and pulled the towel tighter. That he'd been mistaken for a Seron explained much, of course, but even that was rather exciting. On long patrols there was always talk of sex, being an activity sorely missed by all, and nearly everyone had a favourite courtesan whose erotic skill would be lauded and extolled in graphic detail. Even those elves who were bonded with mates and families recalled the Seryn of their single years with affection and barely suppressed salivation, it being grossly inappropriate to expound on the private activities between married couples. 

Legolas had often found these stories both fascinating and frustrating, since the Seron under discussion was not there and he had no means to alleviate the pressing need the lurid descriptions incited, other than masturbation. Sometimes, though, he had the feeling his cohorts were purposely embellishing their romantic endeavours just to see if they could get him all bothered. He frequently had to excuse himself in the midst of these lengthy narratives and bore the ensuing teasing over his highly responsive libido with as much grace as he could muster. It was, in a strange way he couldn't quite define, rather gratifying to have the Man want him the way he'd wanted those lionised lovers.

Legolas stopped abruptly, suddenly realising  _he_  had apparently been the principal subject of just such an explicit tale told to this unknown Man from Imladris. His face reddened in angry shame; he'd never imagined such a thing, especially since he had no sexual exploits for which to be renowned. He was not, after all, one of the Seronath and everyone knew it. Alarm joined the emotions motivating his racing pulse; the Man's interest now sickening and infuriating. It could only be that someone had deliberately filled his head with such stories and, knowing of Greenwood's courtesans, the gullible mortal had assumed Legolas was one of them.

_Someone set him up; someone is using him to ridicule my lonely life!_  

The young archer first denied the idea; none of his friends would play such a joke on him. Then he had to face the fact that only an elf of the household would know his favourite haunts so well. There were one or two cousins, his rivals amid their peers, who were jealous of his esteem as a warrior and his place of favour as the King's only heir. Yes, they might do something like this if they'd learned of his secret wish. Fury replaced his discomfort and he was about to turn back, deciding to interrogate the Man himself and learn who could be so unkind, when his keen hearing picked up the soft footfalls of an elf approaching from ahead.

Dismayed, Legolas looked down at his near nakedness, observing with irritation that his penis simply reused to lie down quietly and wait until he was in more comfortable circumstances to deal with it. It occurred to his agitated mind, filled as it was with rage over the cruel prank, that the perpetrators might actually be coming along to see the results of their malicious deed. Perhaps this was one of them; he became convinced it must be so. He did not want to face either one in this vulnerable estate, with just a wet towel covering his recalcitrant cock, the perfect target of their jeering laughter and lewd remarks. Panic replaced anger and Legolas glanced nervously left and right. 

A doorway stood near, firmly shut but this was not an area of private quarters for either family or staff. Mostly the rooms here were for guests and since there were few of those mostly they were unoccupied. He hastened to the portal, threw it open, stepped inside its dark confines, shut it silently, and leaned an ear against the barrier so to mark the elf's passing. Yet, it was not what might be happening in the hall that garnered his notice. Behind him came the soft rustle of silk on bare skin, a mild grunt of surprise, and a murmured 'What was that?' followed by heavy breathing and a stilted 'What was what?'. 

Legolas held his breath, eyes enormous; he wasn't alone. There was a distinct sense of motion in the dark room, the subtle noise of bodies rubbing against each other, a low moan.

"Stop! Someone's in here," came a hoarse whisper amid the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh and the minor creaking of some piece of furniture bearing the strain. 

"Nay, nay, nobody's here. Oh! Just let me…" Another groan, deeper and more urgent, cut off the words.

Legolas' stomach bunched into knots; he could not stay in here and witness the lovers' intimate climax. Praying the couple never found out who had invaded their secret tryst, he lifted the latch as quietly as possible, stepped back into the corridor, shut the door silently, turned, and ran right into the elf he'd been trying to evade. 

They collided with enough force to make Legolas stagger backward, he being the one barely moving while the ellon whose path he'd crossed was walking briskly along the passage. Legolas gave a startled cry and gaped up at the ellon, who gave a startled cry and peered back, grabbing onto the prince's biceps to keep him from stumbling into the wall. Two pairs of eyes locked in stunned enthralment, caught in an unexpected moment of sudden and inexplicable recognition.

The harried archer stared into the most compelling grey gaze he'd ever encountered, watching in wonder as he saw desire fill it, acutely aware of the strength in the hands holding him, the raw, virile power of the tall, lean frame before him. The ellon was exquisitely beautiful, well-formed beyond masculine fantasies depicted in erotic books, and Legolas knew this because all he was wearing was a simple cotton robe tied loosely at the hips. It gaped open all the way to the small, inward fold of his navel. Black hair trailed freely over his shoulders and down his chest, defining the tantalising strip of naked skin revealed. His feet were bare; his lips were smiling, and one dark brow arched high in enquiring amusement. 

Slowly, slowly those incredible eyes tracked over him, scrutinising him the way he might an expanse of unknown terrain, pausing to memorise specific landmarks: his ears, his mouth, his nipples, his blatant erection. There the eyes remained as eons of time sped away and it was only then that Legolas realised he was no longer holding onto the towel. In fact, now that he was aware of its absence about his waist he could feel its damp weight atop his left foot. There was absolutely nothing guarding his modesty, nothing between that devouring stare and his rigid red shaft. That, to his complete mortification, made him grow even harder and invoked an involuntary quiver along the entire length of engorged flesh.

The movement elicited a sharp, excited breath from Elladan, for it was he, and his gaze flew back to the fair visage. Expecting to find open invitation there and hear a ribald quip, instead he found himself peering into blue eyes awash in abject embarrassment, burgeoning with desire but only the desire to disappear. Elladan's smile faltered and he passed his sight over the beautiful countenance again, noting now the faint shadows above the cheekbones, the strain around the parted lips, the weariness and loneliness hidden in those infinite eyes. 

He had thought running into this young, wet, naked, and aroused Seron an unprecedented bit of luck, since he was on his way to the hot springs to seek one, but now he felt it was all a horrible mistake. The ellon was clearly not a courtesan and thus his presence in public in such a state bespoke some grave event just transpired. Indeed, he was trembling, shivering in all his gloriously dripping, vulnerable nudity, betrayed by his own body into revealing what was obviously a confusing reaction to someone he did not know. At once the intrepid Orc-slayer's heart was overwhelmed with compassion and he wanted nothing more than to put this young warrior at ease and punish whoever had placed him at such disadvantage.

Elladan acted on impulse, hoping to vanquish humiliation with humour, and whisked off his robe. With a flourish he wrapped it around the ellon's slender body, smiling into the surprised face. "Seems only fair," he shrugged, "that I give you the same opportunity." 

He took a step back to show he was not a threat in any way whatsoever and prayed fervently that this unbelievably alluring creature would not bolt. He found his heart thudding and his soul swelling more quickly than his cock, a reaction he'd never experienced, and briefly wondered what one did to relieve an erection of the spirit. The quandary vanished as he beheld the most beatific smile overtaking the ellon's distraught expression. He grinned back in what he was sure must be a foolishly besotted manner but didn't care in the least. His companion was easing his arms into the sleeves, careful to keep the robe draped over his excited cock; the fabric billowed into an enticing little tent atop his groin. Elladan noticed, but kept his eyes on the becoming face. At last the vision spoke.

"Thank you," Legolas said quietly, snuggling into the robe still warm from contact with its last wearer. Oh, that was a delicious thought; he wrapped it even closer against his skin. 

He let his eyes make the same journey the visitor's had, realising only now that this must be one of the famous twin sons of Elrond. His heart redoubled its efforts to supply him with enough blood to keep from saying something stupid and making an utter fool of himself, so much of the vital fluid being bound up in regions where thinking was not required. He wanted to make a clever and sophisticated remark that would convey both his gratitude for the ellon's courtesy and appreciation of the fine physique so proudly on display. Legolas exhaled a wistful sigh. How could he ever do justice to such grace? If he had been the epitome of male virility when covered, the noble descendant of Eärendil unclothed was nothing less than the personification of masculine perfection. Here, then, was what Iluvatar had in mind when he'd decided to make elves.

All at once a faint blush crept up the mighty warrior's cheeks and he looked away, for all the world as though he felt self-conscious, and gave a bemused chuckle. Legolas was chagrined to realise his brain had decided to blurt that thought aloud without consulting him.

"Well, male elves perhaps, but I doubt my sister would want to look as I do," said Elladan coyly, marvelling at how much the compliment pleased him. "I think you're the most glorious ellon I've ever seen," he heard himself say, shocked to find his usually glib and gilded tongue returned to the blunt banality that had plagued his adolescence. Yet the humble, though certainly heartfelt, superlative made his admirer positively sparkle with delight and so Elladan could not help but be happy.

He glanced covertly at this amazing person who so deeply affected him and then away, unaccountably unsure of himself, uncharacteristically wanting to cover his nakedness and fighting the urge to use his hands to do so. More than his body was on display; Elladan felt his innermost heart was exposed. Everything he understood about the world and his place in it vanished, replaced by absolute certainty that the elf in front of him was the very core of his reason for being. He wanted him; they belonged together. The power of the realisation disturbed him, unused to this feeling of out-of-control, head-over-heels, giddy exhilaration. 

There was the towel on the floor and Elladan hastily took it up, permitting himself the briefest touch of the long slender foot beneath it, and tied it around his loins. Instead of hiding his inordinate interest, the covering only called more attention to his perky erection, but he felt better anyway. He raised his eyes, found the ellon lifting his from their focus on the same place, locked with the intense blue stare, and after a second of soul-sharing they both erupted in light and nervous laughter.

"Ai, Tawar nin beria!" (Tawar protect me) exclaimed Legolas, tearing his sight away for a moment only to return it at once, fearing the ellon would prove to be but a dream if he didn't keep his eyes on him. "This is terribly awkward."

"Aye, but I would rather suffer the discomfort than not have run into you," admitted Elladan. "Permit me to introduce myself: Elladan of Imladris." He held forth his arm, a more easy and winning smile upon his face.

"I am honoured," announced Legolas, giving a polite dip of his head as he wrapped his fingers around the steely muscles below Elladan's elbow. "Legolas of Greenwood."

Elladan's eyes opened wide and his mouth actually fell ajar for a second or two. "You are Legolas?" he asked in obvious disbelief. He'd been so sure this ellon was no Seron and found he didn't like the idea of anyone and everyone having access to him. "Are you all right?" he blundered out, keeping his grip tight on the slender arm, scanning the slight frame keenly, recalling now the frantic upset which had caused Legolas to run into him in the first place.

"Yes, to both questions," answered Legolas, confused but gratified by the intensity of Elladan's concern for him. Then he remembered what had happened earlier and what an image of panic he must have presented. He flushed in embarrassment to have revealed his distress so fully. "Ai, it was nothing, now that I have room to think on it. I was soaking in the spa and just wanted to be alone. Someone barged in, made a rather base and demanding suggestion, and so I just got out of there."

"Oh, well, if you are certain," Elladan reluctantly released Legolas' arm. Considering the aroused state in which he'd met the elf, he rather doubted the encounter was as innocent as this, but it was not his place to pry. An uneasy silence replaced the newly crafted accord between them. Elladan huffed out an exasperated sigh and decided to just plunge ahead. "Will you be at the feast tonight?"

"Yes, at least for a little while. Will I see you there?" Legolas smiled encouragement.

"Most assuredly," answered Elladan. "In fact, I was hoping you would accompany me as my escort for the night."

"Escort?" Legolas' brows rose in bewilderment, for this almost sounded like Elladan expected to bed him, but he quelled his instinct, thinking he was biased by the earlier confrontation with the Man. "I would be honoured to be your companion for the feast."

"Thank you!" enthused Elladan, bowing regally, why he didn't know. "I am the one honoured, Legolas." His antics made Legolas laugh, a bright jubilant sound that sent his heart soaring. He beamed as Thranduil's fair Seron tendered him an equally courtly bow.

"Until this evening, then, Elladan of Imladris, namarië." Legolas turned and pranced away down the hall, brighter in spirit than he'd been in months, and decided to dress and go find his Ada. He wanted to put Elladan's name at the very top of his list of possible suitors. Suddenly what to wear to the festivities took on supreme importance. He glanced behind and found the raven-haired Lord staring after him in dreamy-eyed stupefaction and smiled, lifting his hand in farewell.

"Namarië, Legolas of Greenwood," Elladan murmured, waving back, and watched until his new paramour disappeared around the curve of the passage. 

How long he stood there he couldn't guess, for a series of wondrous images passed through his inner eye, not all of them explicitly sexual. He saw himself with Legolas at Imladris participating in Yule festivities, hunting in the fields, sharing a quiet moment on his balcony stargazing, making love before the hearth. The golden-haired ellon fit seamlessly into his life, accepted by friends and family alike, and the years rolled by them uncounted in effortless bliss. The daydreams were brutally shattered by a hand clamping roughly to his shoulder and spinning him round. A face dark with savage fury hovered inches from his.

"What do you think you're doing? I saw you talking to Legolas; what did you say to him?" Aragorn demanded, having tracked the Wood Elf only to find him parting from his foster-brother under highly suggestive circumstances. He'd wanted to apologise and make things right, still hoping to garner the lovely Seron's attentions for the night, and now here was Elladan sporting nothing but the very towel Legolas had run off in. Features twisted in disgust, he looked his brother up and down. "What did you do, fuck him right in the corridor?"

"Take your hand off me." Elladan didn't wait to be obeyed and shoved the offending fingers from his person. "What I had to say is not your concern, Estel, and that accusation is disgraceful."

"You did, didn't you?" shouted the Man, overcome by disappointment, humiliated to be shunned in favour of his brother. "You knew I wanted him; I told you last night. Why did you have to do it now? I trailed him all the way from the grotto to gain his favour. Couldn't you wait till I'd had him first?"

"Enough!" thundered Elladan, grabbing Aragorn by the arms, lifting and shoving him hard against the wall, pinning him there. "You're the one who assaulted him in the spa?" The memory of Legolas trembling in misery filled his mind. It took every ounce of his restraint to refrain from pounding the insolent Man into a bloody pulp. "What kind of person are you?"

"I never assaulted anyone! Release me!" Aragorn struggled to get loose, shocked and frightened by the murderous look in his brother's eyes, and kicked out, aiming for a very tender zone, but Elladan was very fast and evaded the strike. He pivoted, turned, and slammed Aragorn against the opposite wall. The Man groaned. "I never touched him, Elladan; if he said so it's a lie," the frantic young Dúnadan babbled out his explanation. "He was pleasuring himself and I just offered to do it for him, hoping for the same in return. I want to bed him, not force him!" he cried.

"Silence! Do not say such things!" Elladan was beside himself; he couldn't hurt Estel but even less could he abide these coarse references to Legolas. "If I ever hear you talk about him like that again I'll break something you might need one day, and break it past mending. Stay away from him!"

"Sídh, Muindoren, sídh!" implored a voice behind them. "Let him down, Elladan; that's Estel you're mauling!" It was Elrohir and his cool voice of reason reached both his brothers. Elladan dropped the Man and sheepishly mumbled an apology; Aragorn straightened his robe and offered a curt acceptance. They stood about in a disjointed knot of bewildered enmity. Elrohir advanced and took his twin's arm. "Elladan, what happened here? Fighting Estel for Legolas, when you both may have him, is madness."

"Nothing happened!" the elder brother exploded, tearing free and backing away. "Why do you both assume Legolas would let someone just…that he would want to be  _used_  like that?" He paced to and fro in barely contained fury. "And in public?"

"Muindor, I never suggested he…"

"No! I won't be placated," Elladan lunged back nose to nose with Elrohir, eyes flashing with outrage. "Legolas is not like that, I tell you, and you're both to stay clear of him." He turned and stormed away toward the hot springs, unable to trust himself not to punish them for their slurs and slanders.

"Elrohir, what's got into him?" demanded Aragorn, confused and more than a little frightened by Elladan's behaviour. "I swear I never laid hands on that ellon."

"I don't know," Elrohir said, deeply troubled by what he suspected might be happening to his brother. He did not want Elladan to fall in love with an ellon whose calling it was to love everyone and anyone. It would break his brother's heart. Quickly he decided on a plan of action. "Estel, go and see if you can find Legolas and learn how close the two have become. Try and convince him to renounce any promises to keep company with our brother." 

"What?" Aragorn was stunned. "Why? Not that I'm complaining, but…"

"I'll explain later, Muindor, just do as I ask, please," Elrohir turned concerned eyes upon the young Man. For a moment, gazing into Estel's earnest countenance, he felt guilty for what he was about to do, but Aragorn was mortal and doomed to die. Elladan was not and never would if Elrohir had any say in the matter. He clasped his younger brother's shoulder firmly and then left, following Elladan into the depths of the fortress. 

Aragorn gazed after him a moment then wheeled, determined to carry out his task, smiling at the mental images success would promote to reality.

Once the hallway cleared, the shut door opened and two heads peered cautiously out, examined the empty corridor in both directions, and then two Men emerged from the darkened room. They stood in silence regarding opposite ends of the passage and then shared a long look of salacious delight ere they parted and exited, one following Aragorn and the other the Twins. 

They were delegates to the trade convention, of course, one from Dale and one from Laketown, indulging a carnal craving forbidden by their culture. Andaith had brought his lover here, thinking only to enjoy a thoroughly rousing round of sexual hijinx, and had come away with much more than the pleasant sense of relaxed fulfilment currently inundating his person. Having been insulted and mistreated by the Wood Elves, as he saw it, the petty Man was pleased beyond telling to have a means of embarrassing them in turn. Plus, he felt he'd found just the right diversion to distract the wily Elven King and gain the upper hand in the ensuing negotiations.

He knew who Legolas was; he'd been briefed on the Royal Family of Mirkwood prior to leaving Laketown. In mere hours the whole city was gossiping over the greatly exaggerated news of the prince's indiscretions with not only the Twin Lords of Imladris but their human companion as well.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a most interesting feast.

TBC

NOTE: Well, Legolas and Elladan shared something of a spark. Poor Aragorn has his work cut out for him. And if we didn't know it before, we now realise Andaith is the Bad Guy in the tale. Hope everyone enjoyed this update :D You guys are the very best and I am so glad of your friendship and continuing support.

* * *

**Glossary:**

Seron - lover, courtesan  
Seryn - more than one courtesan  
Seronath - all couretesans as a class  
Baragûr - Fiery-heart

Andaith - a mark denoting a long sound for a vowel.

Ela! Elladan ar Elrohir, tultâ di gwa-lassiê - Behold! Elladan and Elrohir, come under the leaves. ( a traditional sylvan greeting in primitive elvish)

Brûn flad-en-gwaew, pedich farn - Old bag of wind, you speak enough (you talk too much)

melethron - male lover

Ernilen - My Prince

Elboron - Brave Star

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

 


	5. Chapter 5

# Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

  by erobey | un-beta'd |  _Italics=thoughts_

#### Chapter Five: Preliminary Problems

Normally, Legolas despised the signs and emblems of royalty as much as his father, preferring simple, utilitarian garments and the crown of seasonal flowers or leaves Thranduil regularly wore. This day, he was much more particular regarding what he planned to wear and contemplated whether he should use any kind of garland at all. It might look pretentious, as though he was trying to impress Elladan with his high station and noble origins, which were more exalted than being the son of Greenwood's King, harking back to even more ancient nobility via an oblique connection to Elwë Singollo. 

 _Well, I am hoping to impress Elladan, but do not want to seem too blatant about it._

Then again, he didn't want it to look as though he scorned his title and position as Greenwood's only Prince and Thranduil's heir; he was proud of both, and did not know if he would look ridiculous sporting a circlet of daisies with such elegant attire. "I have no idea what to do," he complained with a despairing moan.

"What is it, ionen? Are you having second thoughts about Elladan?" Thranduil peered at him from his spot on the floor where he was making a hasty alteration to the trailing, thigh-length hem of Legolas' opulent, blue velvet, fur-trimmed outer robe.

"No, Ada. I was thinking about the daisies you suggested. Somehow they do not seem to lend the proper aura of sophistication this ensemble demands."

Thranduil worked hard to control the grin trying to rework his features, raising his right brow archly and clamping his teeth tightly together, for Legolas' features were contracted in worry. The daisies had been a facetious suggestion. It was taking a moment for him to gather sufficient control to prevent an outburst of laughter when he spoke, and in the interim a bright bubble of a giggle arose in the room.

"Oh, Legolas, we do not really think you should wear daisies," smiled Idrê, Elboron's wife. Thranduil had sent for her as soon as he'd realised how distracted his son was over his chosen companion for the impending feast. Idrê did her best to fulfil a mother's role for her nephew whenever possible and was presently working on the rear tail of the robe, adjusting its height higher to match what her law-brother was doing.

"Oh." Legolas frowned at his father and received a shrugging grunt of mirth as Thranduil went back to the tiny, precise stitches required to bring the long, dipping point of the robe to the exact centre of Legolas' knee. This was vital, as the garment would not move with the fluid grace necessary otherwise, meaning it would not sway and slide as he walked, alternately revealing and then concealing the action of his thighs in the sleek, form-fitting suede leggings he was wearing. 

The robe was not even really a robe at all, but more a modified tunic: snug through the chest, so that he had to wear it half-untied, and softly flared to these daring points. The sleeves were long and wide and easily fell away from his wrists, exposing his arms at will. The shirt underneath it all was little more than a vest of fine creamy white silk, but it did have a nicely embroidered front that showed through the open ties of the robe.

"Then, what goes with something this refined?" he finally asked. This night, Legolas wanted to look as regal and imposing as Ada and Aunt Idrê could manage to make him. "Should I remain bear-headed?"

"No, that will not do," Thranduil completed his work and stood. "You've forgotten it. I should not be surprised."

"Forgotten what?"

"The Relic!" laughed Idrê merrily, shaking her head as she caught Thranduil's hurt expression. "So you named it yourself, muindoren."

"True, but I was young then," growled Thranduil. "It was important to my Ada."

They were referring to a circlet of delicate leaves wrought in mithril and gold crafted by skilled dwarves in the days before the fall of Doriath. The crown was commissioned by Galadhon for his sister's son, Oropher, and presented on his Coming of Age. There had been much made of the Princes of the Noldor, newly arrived and much exalted for their courage against Melkor, and Galadhon felt it was time to acknowledge the Princes of the Sindar as well. 

That initiated a tradition of great pomp and formality, the only one Oropher carried with him out of Beleriand, and Thranduil had been crowned with the circlet in the same way, as had Elboron and all his sons, all their sons, and all his grandsons' grandsons, ad infinitum. For Legolas, the ceremony had been a bit more elaborate and solemn, he being Oropher's heir, and thus his fiftieth Begetting Day was also his Coronation Day and his Coming of Age celebration, all at once. He'd grumbled about it and complained, but there was no denying his pride to be accorded the honour of wearing The Relic.

"Ai, of course! I can't believe I am saying this, but it is perfect," announced Legolas, but then the excitement left his eyes. "I have no idea where it is." He'd worn it just once for a few hours at most and couldn't recall into which storage bin he'd tossed it. "That was over two-hundred years ago," he added in his defence, seeing his father's disapproving look.

"Galion will know," said Idrê and went to find the seneschal. In the silence she left behind, father and son smiled at one another, Legolas filled with nervous excitement and Thranduil packed with joy to see his son so care-free for once.

 _Or rather, his only care one that is easy on the spirit to carry._  

When a servant brought him word Legolas needed him, Thranduil had gone at once, worried over the unusual summons, but hearing the story of the meeting in the corridor had eased his heart. Legolas was almost giddy, tongue-tied and bright-eyed, flushed and still aroused, and had finished by pleading for help in making himself unforgettable for the fête. The relieved father was more than pleased to do so, until the need was made clear as he noted the remaining blotchy black and blue zones down his son's back and side. 

The fall and the fight must have been terrible; Thranduil felt new concern for the way his son down-played the event. Part of that involved a warrior's pride, but there was also a sense of acceptance in his manner. Legolas expected to face death and incur injuries regularly. All his archers were constantly at risk, such was the nature of their struggle, but this was his child and the King felt ashamed to have put him in peril. His hands gentled to tender, careful touches. The wounds were not too serious this time and they were improving, but Legolas had admitted the arm was still sore, too, and Thranduil knew his son's lengthy depression was slowing the healing process. The party and the prospect of a companion for his lonely life would do more for Legolas than all the treatments his medics could devise. 

He had not yet revealed the troubling news of undesirable inhabitants in Dol Guldur, so happy to note the dreamy expression of wondrous incredulity on his child's face he had not been able to make himself disturb it. Legolas kept repeating 'I was just beginning to think about who it might be and Elladan arrives as though by command'. There was no doubt the elder Twin was the perfect candidate for his son's first lover and Thranduil could not have chosen a better partner for Legolas himself. Elladan was much older and thus experienced, understood the intensity often part of an elf's initial foray into adult pleasures, was known to prefer a male companion, and would take good care not to bruise Legolas' romantic heart and fragile ego. 

 _Let him have this night of frivolity and fun; tomorrow is soon enough to reveal his part in repulsing the Nazgul._

As he watched, Legolas moved across the room to inspect his appearance in the full length glass by the dressing table. He was critical and minute in his examination, tugging and adjusting the clothes, picking at the shirt through the tunic's open front, turning this way and that, and tried to see himself from various angles, walking up, going away, bowing. He caught his father's smiling eye in the reflection and spun about, features transformed in happy anticipation as he came floating back to Thranduil's side.

"How do I look?"

"Magnificent!" announced the King and he meant it. "He will not be able to resist."

"Truly? I am not sure I want things to happen too quickly," Legolas admitted nervously. Just thinking about the encounter in the hall made his temperature rise and his heart soar. The unruly erection had not seen fit to subside until he'd heard his aunt's voice as she arrived with his new clothes. Even now, the leggings were much tighter than the various fittings with the tailor had indicated they would be. Legolas worried his interest would be too apparent and raised beseeching eyes to his father. "I want to be in control of things, but I'm not sure I can resist him if…"

"That is expected, on both counts. It need not be unsettling," assured Thranduil, understanding exactly what was troubling his son, and settled a hand on a tense shoulder. "Your clothes are not overly revealing, but neither is it necessary to hide your desire totally. That issue has already been raised, if you will, and thus you can just put it aside as something both of you know and accept. There is attraction between you two; nothing could be more natural.

"From what you told me, Elladan is as overwhelmed by this unexpected connection as you are. The two of you managed under very difficult circumstances today; there is no reason to imagine either of you incapable of controlling yourselves in public. He will be feeling the same hesitancy you feel, if he is affected as deeply as it seems from your words, and will treat you with the utmost courtesy and respect. Knowing he could easily control what happens, he will suppress the urge to do so."

"He will? How so and why? I mean, if I am irresistible…"

"Ah, Legolas, he knows how young you are; he will understand your lack of knowledge and experience in such matters. And, since he is honourable, Elladan will not attempt to take advantage of your ingenuous soul. In fact, he will probably come to me to discuss all this before anything happens. This fête is the perfect backdrop for your second meeting. There will be much to do and you will not be alone together, yet he will be exclusively near. Let your spirit guide you; spend the night getting to know who he is."

"I already know who he is, Ada," Legolas said.

"Nay, not so," his father corrected, but then he paused, wondering if Legolas' heart already had chosen this ellon. He scrutinised his son's eyes deeply, but saw only the excitement and anticipation of having an admirer he admired in return. "You know his name and you know his reputation, a fine one, may I say, if a bit bleak. There is more to life than killing Orcs."

"Indeed. That verily defines my life, too." Legolas replied, returning to the dressing table. He sat and lifted a gilded brush and immediately his father came and took it from him, began brushing his hair in long, graceful strokes as he spoke, just as Legolas had hoped he would.

"You speak the truth and this is something I should have worked harder to prevent," Thranduil sighed. He watched the golden strands shimmer as the bristles passed through them. "Greenwood will always place high demands upon your unique skills, ionen, but I intend to make sure you have a life of your own as well."

"Thank you, Ada," Legolas leaned back for a quick hug but straightened upon hearing a knock on the door. "Minno," (Enter) he called, expecting his aunt, and was surprised to see the Man from Imladris revealed in the glass as the portal swung wide. "You!" He rose abruptly and turned, face aflame, self-consciously drawing the robe close though he was fully clothed.

"Aye, Legolas," Aragorn stammered. He blinked; Legolas looked amazing. Yet it was a greater shock to see King Thranduil standing with brush in one hand, the other filled with the seron's lush yellow mane. The Man's heart sank and his stomach knotted in dread; had Legolas told his powerful lover about the encounter at the pools? Thranduil looked surprised and suspicious but not outraged. Aragorn exhaled the breath he'd been holding and continued. "I was hoping to speak to you, but can see you're busy. Please excuse me. Your Majesty," he acknowledged the King with a quick bow and was backing himself out the door when Thranduil's words halted him.

"When did you two meet?" he asked, anger prickling, for there was no mistaking the embarrassed consternation filtering through every iota of his son's aura. He set the brush down and automatically ran a smoothing hand over the golden hair.

"This morning at the pools," growled Legolas. He had not told his father about the fiasco in the grotto, having forgot it once he'd encountered Elladan, and had no desire for him to learn of it now.  _Valar! Hasn't this crude human subjected me to enough mortification?_  "Though I don't believe I caught your name," he addressed Aragorn coldly, drawing himself tall into a fair representation of his father's regal stance as he tried unsuccessfully to look down upon the Man, unsuccessful since they were nearly the same height.

"It is Aragorn. He is the young Chieftain of the Dúnadain raised in Elrond's house; the heir of Elros Tar Minyatur," Thranduil told his son, "but none are supposed to know it outside Imladris. Silly, since everyone knows Elrond always fosters his brother's progeny."

"Your words are wise, Your Majesty," Aragorn felt his cheeks grow hot, displeased to have the King tell this courtesan, no matter how highly favoured, such a vital secret, but he bowed low a second time anyway. He hoped Legolas would not reveal all and again made an effort to escape. "I will leave you and perhaps there will be time to talk during the celebration," he said, dismayed that he would not be able to carry out Elrohir's directive. The likelihood of separating Elladan from Legolas' side was less than that of dividing the flood of a river into equal halves.

"You are Isildur's heir?" Legolas' eyes had grown quite large as he re-evaluated the Man before him, gaze sweeping him up and down. Aragorn was not wearing the bathing robe any longer but had dressed to impress in his best clothes: garments befitting a young Lord cut in the fashion of Imladris, topped with a short, black cape that give him the demeanour of a cavalier, long gloves tucked into his waist, hair and beard neat and trim. One hand remained hidden behind his back and the prince wondered what he was holding there.  _A gift to make amends?_

"I am, but please do not share that information with anyone else, Legolas," Aragorn asked graciously. 

"Of course not!" Legolas snapped, scowling darkly. "What variety of fool do you take me for?" Well, he knew what Aragorn thought him to be and again his face burned with the memory of the impromptu proposition and the open desire presented in the spa. Suddenly he wondered how the Man had located his rooms and what else he might have seen on the way. "Did you follow me?"

Aragorn grew pale. This was not a conversation he wanted to pursue in front of Thranduil. "I asked one of Elboron's grandsons where your dwelling was located," he said, which was true enough. He'd run into his new friend from the hunt while wandering the halls and posed the most popular question in the fortress, having no idea where the fair seron actually slept when alone. Finding him housed in the area reserved for family underscored the strength of Thranduil's claim. Perhaps Elladan really was in over his head.

"What are you hiding behind your back?" Thranduil suddenly demanded, recalling Elboron's report about the interest all of the Imladrians had expressed for his son. The friction on display was fraught with chagrin on both sides, but running through their interaction was an almost palpable current of sexual allure, again on both sides. He hid his glee behind a stern and forbidding glower, but his eyes were shining. This would be so good for Legolas' self-esteem, for the King was sure the Man held a love offering in hand.

"Oh, nothing," Aragorn was caught and knew it. There was no getting out of it now; the King would know he desired the Royal Courtesan. The Man braced for doom. "Well, something for Legolas," he concluded, dropping his eyes as he slowly dragged his hand forward and unfurled his fist, presenting the small trinket: a broach he'd purchased in Rohan. It was carved from onyx in the form of a running horse, black mane and tail flying. "I wanted to apologise for intruding on your bath, Legolas."

"Oh. That's very…thoughtful of you," stammered Legolas, staring in wonder at the small gift even as he marvelled at how easily their confrontation was so innocently explained away. He found his opinion of the Man improving.

 _He thinks on his feet, knows how to make a considerate gesture, and cleans up well; more traits in his favour._  

The broach was beautiful and he wanted to take it but really didn't know if he should under the circumstances. His eyes flickered to his father, who smiled and gave a tiny nod, and then back to the Man. Slowly his hand extended to touch the little horse; it was as smooth as one of his arrow points. The single eye was an inset chip of some bright glittery stone. He picked it up, feeling the warm, rough surface of a swordsman's palm as he did, and decided to reveal the truth about his identity. "There is a misunderstanding between us that needs to be…"

"Please, Legolas, say no more," Aragorn interrupted, hand upraised. "It was entirely my doing." Spellbound, breath suspended, he'd watched as the beautiful elf lifted the token from his hand, felt the whispery touch of lethal fingertips brush his skin, watched Legolas inspect the broach, a faint smile softening that formerly cool expression. The Man had not missed the quick check to make sure Thranduil approved and was both surprised and elated to note the King's permission.  _So, he is willing to share after all._  "Do you like the pin? I saw it in Rohan and thought it perfect to secure a cloak."

"Yes, it is fine indeed. Thank you." Legolas looked at him, uncertain how to behave. The Man thought he was a seron! On reflection, he chose not to elaborate on the mix-up over his chosen profession. No need to embarrass Aragorn in front of his father. He decided to smile; the gift pleased him, after all. The smile felt awkward and false, but unbeknownst to him, Legolas had presented a look that was interpreted by Isildur's heir as endearingly shy and self-conscious. He suddenly found the Man beaming at him as though he'd just been told the happiest news imaginable. His smile warmed. "I will wear it tonight and I am certain there will be an opportunity to talk again."

"You are most gracious," Aragorn enthused and then caught what might have been a suppressed chuckle from the King. He found the monarch peering at him intently, emerald eyes very bright indeed. Aragorn decided this was the best time to leave, while everyone was in such good spirits. Yet again he bowed. "You Majesty, forgive the intrusion. Legolas, farewell until the feast." He backed into the hall and shut the door behind him quietly, turned, and went strutting off down the corridor, very proud of himself for handling the potentially volatile situation with such maturity and finesse. He passed two ellith pacing swiftly toward him and graciously stepped aside, bowing as they swept by him, and completely failed to note the black looks each trained upon him as she went.

  
  **A bit earlier, right after the encounter in the hall…**  

  
Elrohir didn't even bother to go to the secluded cavern and its steaming pools, knowing his brother was in no mood for a soothing soak amid curling tendrils of incense and soft music. Much less would he want to cavort with any of the seryn or spend time relaxing with old friends among the King's kinfolk. No, Elladan was beyond any means of normal socialising and would have taken himself to the arena, there to spend his fury, fear, and guilt on anyone foolish enough to get in the ring with him. Elrohir knew the way and hastened, worrying over how few of the sylvans were adept with a broadsword. No physical injury would be done to anyone facing Elladan, but the psychological damage could be just as harrowing, and more permanent. 

Elladan had a way of destroying an opponent like no other warrior Elrohir had ever seen: cruel, brutal, mocking, belittling in the swift manner in which he neatly disarmed his opponents. Then, even as they prepared to acknowledge defeat, he handed them back their swords and let them try again. And again, for hours. Pride and honour demanded the hapless combatant accept this silent, taunting, challenge until forced in shame to refuse to take back his own blade. A warrior from Lorien had sailed after such an encounter; other survivors refrained from speaking to either of the brothers. Here in Greenwood, how would such a defeat be borne? Elrohir shuddered; he'd heard rumours about suicide among dishonoured sylvans. 

 _Thranduil could meet him equally, perhaps Elboron._  No others came to mind.

The sound of combat reached him long before he could see the action, and the noise inspired him to run. Clearing a thick tangle of vine-strangled trees, Elrohir found himself in the training grounds of the stronghold, but could not get a glimpse of what was happening because of the press of the throng surrounding the arena. Every warrior in Greenwood seemed to be present, silently and tensely watching the mock battle. As he forced his way through, Elrohir suddenly realised he was indeed hearing the ring and clang of duelling swords.

 _Two swords!_  

Seldom had he known such relief and became even more determined to get to the front and learn who was able to spar against Elladan in the grip of unbridled rage. As warriors realised who was pushing at them so insistently, a way opened for him and Elrohir suddenly found himself gazing at the fighters: Elladan and Elboron.

The King's brother was calm and concentrated as he parried Elladan's bone-crushing blows, dodging and twisting deftly out of every feint and ploy, occasionally landing a jarring strike upon his opponent's sword with the flat of his blade. Elboron keenly studied Elladan's actions, seeing almost before the Noldorin Prince what tactic was about to be utilised. He sensed the wild wrath without comprehending its source, but detected in it the silent howl of a ravaged soul. 

Everyone knew about Celebrian's terrible ordeal and its effect upon her sons. Elladan had been the one to find her and had no means to alleviate this great sorrow, the wise Sindarin Prince knew, and hoped he could be of use. How glad he was that he'd come to check on one of his many grandson's progress in swordsmanship! Elboron planned to fight until Elladan exhausted himself and the match could end in draw. He spotted Elrohir and nearly felt the bite of steel for his instant of distraction, but managed to evade the strike.

Thus the match went on, the combatants well matched, seasoned warriors who knew how to pace themselves. Even so, soon sweat matted the flying hair and stained their clothes as Elladan pressed hard to disarm Elboron. The Prince fought back with both deliberation and daring but retained a defensive posture, refusing to take the attack to his friend. The speed of their moves increased, each becoming more confident as familiarity of one another's ability and strategy increased. It was a spectacle of both great beauty and great peril, for neither appeared to be holding back, though every heart prayed it was so. A single misstep, a brief falter and the honed edge of a steel blade, driven by the force of elvish might and fury, could easily carve tragedy from sport.

The crowd watched in total silence and there was no wagering as there had been when the Twins had battled one another to a standstill once. The tension in the air restrained them. This was more than a friendly sparring match; Elladan's aura was spiked with strong emotion though none believed Elboron to be its object. The cause they could no more guess than could their prince, and an uneasy excitement clouded the air. Who would tire first?

Elrohir decided he had seen enough and entered the ring, hugging the fence as he called Elladan in a voice quiet and insistent. Almost the next instant his brother leaped back from the conflict, sheathed his sword, and held his empty hands out-facing.

"I cede the match to you, Elboron," he said icily, chest heaving and harried eyes blazing. He waited until Elboron saluted and then turned, striding toward Elrohir with an expression so murderous upon his features that the sylvans fell back before he even came close. The brothers left together, Elladan leading, making their way along cool green trails until the murmur of the crowd was lost in distance.

 _I thought we agreed you would seek me out when such was your need._  Elrohir gently reminded and set his hand on Elladan's shoulder to slow his pace.

 _I know, but you were part of the anger, Muindor. How if I really hurt you?_

 _You know you could not. Why am I implicated?_

 _You defamed him. I warn you now not to speak in that manner again._

 _I will risk your wrath and say what must be said._

They came to a halt and faced each other, mirrored images of strained and conflicted hearts, each defiant as the righteous one in this dispute. Nothing was hidden between them, yet each protected his brother's private soul and insisted upon this type of converse, asking and answering when the thoughts could be exchanged nearly simultaneously. It was beneficial beyond the realm of courtesy, each finding the effort to listen and reply forced a deeper introspection and enabled them to remain friends when the conflict resolved.

 _If you name him loose, you risk more than my wrath._

 _I do not so name him._

 _Wise, Muindoren._

 _Yet, you must drive these tender thoughts of Legolas from your heart._

 _No. It is more than tender thoughts._

 _Nay, you are just… swept up, Muindor. Bed him and you will see it then, but do it without touching his spirit._

 _I do not want him like that; can you be so obtuse? I want nothing more than to touch his spirit._

 _He will not understand. It is not their way._

 _It is the only way; he does understand._

As they shared these remarks, they began a slow and measured motion, pacing round and round one another, first one direction and then the other. They stalked each another like panthers in a contest for dominance, but each kept his distance. This was a contest that must remain remote. Both were armed and the strain between them elevated to a dangerous degree; they knew better than to engage one another in battle with enmity between them. After this was settled, then they could spar and derive joy from the encounter, but not as they were. Not since adolescence had brother sought to hurt brother, and the lesson had stuck. They'd collapsed, bloody and exhausted, neither the victor, the root of the quarrel forgotten. It was the distress the battle caused their naneth that taught them never to do it again.

 _He is a seron,_  Elrohir persisted.  _He cannot love you. And I will not lose you._

Why do you assume the worst? You will not lose me but gain a sylvan brother.

No, Elladan.

Yes. My heart is already engaged; it is too late.

No! I do not accept that! It is infatuation, nothing more.

Muindor, you are not listening to me. I want him; there is nothing more to be said.

Whatever he gives to you is the same he would give any person in need.

Do not think such things of him!

This is not our world; here there is no shame in thinking this way. You know this. Mend your wound now before it is too deep to heal.

I do not want to kill this love. I want to feel it and be happy.

It will not give you joy but despair. I will not face losing you as Adar lost his twin. I have the means to deaden your heart to the pain and at the same time heighten your ardour. Bed him and when it is done, you will understand who Legolas is and accept his calling.

How can you be so cold? There are those who once were seryn and now are mated spouses. He does not feel the same about this calling as the others; I would stake my life on it.

That is what I fear most!

Enough! I will not use him, nor does he want to be used. With that Elladan broke from the circle and returned to the stronghold, leaving his brother to consider other options.

For his part, Elrohir was even more determined to stop the avalanche he envisioned about to bury his brother. He elected to do a thing he had not done in many a long year and never without his brother's knowledge and consent. Elrohir went looking for Legolas.

TBC

NOTE: Things get even more muddled, but Aragorn has made a turn around. Sorry for the cliff-hanger; will try to update again soon. Maybe you can all guess what Elrohir is plotting? Oh, and there is no indication in Tolkien's works of any family relationship between Galadhon (Celeborn's father) and Oropher, but in this story I have made them uncle and nephew. We don't know from Tolkien who Oropher's mother was, so I am taking liberties again. Thank you to all the folks sending me encouragement to continue. I mean to finish it; this is a gift fic for a good friend and I will try to work on it more regularly.

* * *

 **Glossary:**

Idrê - thoughtfulness  
Etsiri - river's mouth  
Seron - lover, courtesan  
Seryn - more than one courtesan  
Seronath - all courtesans as a class  
Baragûr - Fiery-heart  
Andaith - a mark denoting a long sound for a vowel.

Ela! Elladan ar Elrohir, tultâ di gwa-lassiê - Behold! Elladan and Elrohir, come under the leaves. ( a traditional sylvan greeting in primitive elvish)

Brûn flad-en-gwaew, pedich farn - Old bag of wind, you speak enough (you talk too much)

melethron - male lover

Ernilen - My Prince

Elboron - Brave Star

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

# Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

  by erobey | un-beta'd |  _Italics=thoughts_

### Chapter Six: Fête in the Forest

"What do you mean, they must all think you're a seron?" demanded Thranduil, stupefied to hear this response from Legolas. 

The statement was not obviously germane to the account Idrê and Etsiri had just delivered, the two having revealed the unseemly rumour circulating through the stronghold and the forest city. The story had Legolas involved in a steamy three-way love affair with the Twin Lords of Imladris and their human foster brother, whom the ellith had just passed in the corridor, and included accounts of public fornication. Thranduil was beyond furious, but his son's comment momentarily checked his anger as he hovered near him.

"Aragorn thinks I'm a seron," Legolas sighed. He stirred uneasily in the comfortable armchair in which he'd slumped, head thrown back, eyes shut, and brow furrowed. His chest and sides ached fiercely, two ribs having been cracked in his fall, but he hoped to hide the present discomfort from his father.  _Which is Aragorn's fault for interrupting the long soak the healers prescribed as remedy._  "His foster-brothers must believe the same." As expected, Thranduil was nearly incoherent in his bilious rejoinder.

"That…that  _echil_  (human) has the audacity to think you…and this incident at the baths must have involved an attempt to engage your services! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I can manage him," Legolas snapped, in no mood to be babied, "and I forgot once I met Elladan." 

"How bizarre!" Etsiri almost laughed. One of the elite warriors Elboron captained, she and Legolas were as close as siblings, sharing a friendship that spanned their entire lives. Her courtship and bonding ceremony a year ago had somewhat reduced their time together, but she still considered herself his boon companion. "Where would they get such an idea?"

"From the same source as this other rumour: that atrocious Man, Andaith. He must have seen you with Elladan in the hall and started the stories then." Idrê saw her nephew wince as his cheeks coloured and he looked away from her, but she was not sorry to have brought the news even so. Legolas was far too naive when it came to matters of the heart.

"To what end? I have done nothing to him," wailed Legolas.

"Pure spitefulness," said Thranduil. "According to Elboron, he is labouring under the assumption that he has been treated with contempt by our people. Apparently, he has quite an elevated view of his importance. He is the one sure to make the trade talks tedious and unproductive. Rather, he would if I permitted him to attend them. I doubt he expected to be identified as the culprit; he will be leaving Greenwood with the dawn."

Four smiles emerged on the faces of the four elves, presenting four variations of gleeful, righteous, savage vindication. Andaith was leaving, but he would be taking the long road home to Lake Town, alone. Any number of tragedies might befall a lone traveller through the dense and dangerous darkness beneath Greenwood's gloomy canopy. Even so, the Wood Elves would ensure he lived to regret his loose tongue to the end of his days.

"Wait, Elladan must already have thought Legolas was a seron to proposition him so openly," Etsiri pointed out. She did not really trust those Orc-slaying Noldorin princes and decided to say so for perhaps the tenth time. "I am not comfortable with the idea of you being with him like that, Legolas."

"Ai! Elladan did not proposition me," Legolas insisted, face much redder now. He heaved himself up, pacing around the sitting room and running fingers through his hair in agitation.

"Perhaps he did but you failed to interpret his invitation correctly," suggested Thranduil, more and more certain Etsiri was right. "Under the circumstances, Elladan must be ruled out as a potential suitor."

"Nay, Ada, he just wants to accompany me to the fête." Legolas' voice was strong but his face betrayed his confusion and the kernel of truth he could not deny. Had he not found Elladan's choice of words indicative of more than a simple opportunity to be in one another's company during the feast?

"Possibly, but maybe he wanted that and more," warned Idrê. "Can you recall exactly what he said to you, muindorion?"

Legolas could indeed remember everything about the encounter in intricate detail, but found he had no wish to repeat the conversation verbatim. He sighed and collapsed back into the chair, crouching forward and covering his burning face with his hands. "It doesn't matter now," he mumbled, "everything's ruined."

The King shared his silent dismay with his law-sister and she in turn expressed her unvoiced pity with Etsiri, but the warrior maid was having none of that.

"What rubbish!" she exclaimed, sneering and contemptuous. "It is better to learn these things rather than suffer the consequences of your profound ignorance regarding courting, attraction, sex, and bonding."

"What?" Legolas straightened up at her disdainful expression, at first insulted and then angry. He blasted out of the chair and in seconds was nose to nose with her, looming in a menacing manner that had no effect whatsoever. "I am not ignorant, Etsiri, and I was not planning to bed him tonight."

"Huh," she snorted, looking him up and down in his elaborate party clothes. "I have eyes, Legolas; that costume is meant to entice and you can't deny it."

"That doesn't mean I'm trying to seduce anyone."

"It might be better if that's what you hoped to do," Etsiri said, voice softer and more compassionate. 

"We are closer than friends, Etsiri, but these are not very complimentary words," growled Legolas, stepping back from her. "How could you think I would want to use Elladan for a night or two? I could engage a seron for that."

"Which is actually the course I would counsel," interposed Idrê. "The Seronath would not touch upon your heart and could teach you all you need to know. You would not be the first to receive such an initiation into adult pleasures."

"Valar! Enough! I cannot believe we are discussing my personal life so…casually…so  _coldly_." A flurry of denials met this outburst but Legolas waved them off. "Ah! I don't even know what this is!" He really just wanted them to go away and let him think. What had started as a fluttery, dizzying approach to love had instead become a quagmire of rumours, lies, and misgivings.

"Ion, we love you, that's what this is. All we want is for your first experience to be healthy and fulfilling, not upsetting or damaging," Thranduil soothed.

"I know, but now I have all this doubt. The entire population is talking about me, too; it has become an ugly scandal."

"That's why you must rid yourself of these starry-eyed visions of Elladan. He obviously wants you, Legolas, but only because he thinks you're a courtesan," cautioned Etsiri. 

"Once he knows who I am that will change."

"This is what I mean about your ignorance. It will change, but not the way you think. He will no longer seek your company once he realises he can't just bed you and go," groaned Etsiri.

"I see," Legolas intoned icily. "I didn't realise you thought me so repulsive. You should leave, Etsiri, before our friendship founders." He turned his back on them all and walked to the desk to give himself something to do, hurt and unwilling to show it.

"That isn't what I think," denied Etsiri. "It just came out wrong. I speak plainly because I care about you and you know it is so. Your allure is not in question here; it is the Noldorin prince's intentions that must be faced."

"Indeed, no one finds you anything but perfect," cooed Idrê, following her nephew and enveloping him in loving arms. "Let your father talk to Elladan and explain the situation. Perhaps he still might serve as long as there are no expectations of emotional attachment."

"That isn't what I want," Legolas protested, leaning into the security of her love. "I want what you have with Elboron, Aunt Idrê. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, pen vuin, I just worry for…"

"Wait a moment," Thranduil intervened, for this was not what he and Legolas had discussed. He joined his son and extracted him from Idrê's embrace. "I thought we were talking about a lover, a first experience, someone who would not be permanent. Now you are saying you want a life-mate?"

"I know. I wanted a lover, but then when I met Elladan the idea that I could have someone like that come to love me didn't seem so impossible." Legolas shrugged, eyes imploring his father's understanding. "I guess I want both."

Thranduil smiled kindly and squeezed his son's shoulder, but he was shaking his head to negate this notion. "That makes things a bit more complicated, ion. I, too, doubt that Elladan would make a suitable life-mate, and I don't think he is seeking one. He and his brother have darkened even more since last they were here. Their hearts are already torn, filled only with bitterness and hatred for Orcs, and they are bound by a sworn oath to avenge their mother's defilement. Neither of them will settle any time soon."

"You don't know that," Legolas said. "Perhaps, after meeting me, Elladan feels differently and…"

"Elbereth! Wishing for something and imagining it does not make it so," Etsiri growled. "Legolas, you have misinterpreted his desire to have sex with you as something else. Open your eyes!"

"You speak as if you were there," retorted Legolas, hurt again, for why did she seem to think he was only deemed suitable for bed-sport? Surely he was as worthy of an eternal commitment as any other Wood Elf? "He was not merely attracted. He was…he was considerate and just as anxious as I was. Does that sound like a person grown cold and dark?" This he addressed to his father.

"Ai, Legolas, I fear Etsiri is right in this. You may not be skilled in the arts of seduction, but Elladan most certainly is. He can present whatever countenance he judges most likely to win him the prize he seeks." Thranduil felt his own heart quail at the crestfallen expression that overtook his child's face on hearing this evaluation.

"Then why did you encourage me?" asked Legolas, so confused now he didn't know what to think.

"Because he would be a fine choice for a first lover, unlikely to place any burden upon your heart while ensuring your pleasure," Thranduil explained. "His character is not in question; indeed, he behaved respectfully even though he believed you a seron, but we were talking about finding you a companion to ease your loneliness, not a mate for all eternity."

Legolas frowned and shook his head. "I don't know if he is the one or not, but I cannot believe the ellon I met is incapable of love."

Before anyone could argue this, a brusque rap on the door interceded and Etsiri answered, being the closest, revealing one of the servants on the threshold. 

"A message for Ernil Legolas," announced he, "from Elladan of Imladris. He asked me to carry this to you personally. Why he could not come in person he did not say, though I told him where to find you." He held forth a folded bit of parchment which Etsiri snatched impatiently before shutting the door in his face.

"That was rude," scolded Legolas, hurrying to take the letter from her. "You'd better go apologise." He retreated to his bedroom, closing the door firmly on his clamouring, crowding relatives and friend. The missive was short and reading it required little more than a matter of seconds. Legolas emerged, eyes alight with triumphant joy. "He wants to see me to allay these misunderstandings," he said, waving the parchment at them. "Obviously, he has heard the rumours and wants to clarify his position."

"Do not go," Etsiri warned. "If you must see him, summon him here."

"Absolutely not!" shrieked Idrê. "That would send entirely the wrong message, Legolas. Let your father go to him."

"No, I can manage my own affairs." His chin lifted in stubborn defiance. "I will tell him the truth. Whatever he says in return, I am prepared to hear it." 

He was on his way down the hall before anyone could object, and while Etsiri was all for following and eavesdropping on the encounter, Thranduil ordered her to let them be. Legolas was right; he was not a child and would handle himself with dignity, courtesy, or menace as the situation might demand. Worried though he was, the anxious father bade the ladies leave so to grant his son the freedom to express whatever emotions the meeting raised once he returned. Thranduil fretted out the next few minutes with greater dread than he'd suffered on Legolas' first foray into battle, with good reason. Physical wounds were not so difficult to heal as those of the soul.

The journey to the small study where Elladan was waiting passed by in a blur of unacknowledged places, things, and people as Legolas' thoughts churned over the best way to handle the meeting. Should he insist on speaking first and tell Elladan who he was or let the Imladrian Lord state his intentions? Following the latter course might give him insight into Elladan's real hopes for their relationship, if any. On the other hand, was it not rather sneaky to withhold his identity and thus entrap his potential beaux into revealing desires that might be influenced by the mistake? It was to be expected that Elladan, or anyone else, might seek the services of a seron.

 _Why should my station in life change his feelings?_

Legolas reflected on the combination of wanton heat, exhilarated confusion, and gentle compassion mingled in the Orc-slayer's grey eyes just hours ago. An unbidden smile reworked his features and a soft sigh left his lungs. That was not the visage of a predator seeking a quick morsel to sate his appetite. Elladan would not care whether he was a courtesan or a king; what they had shared transcended heritage and calling. Nonetheless, Legolas was glad to be Thranduil's son, for he did not want to feel beneath his mate in culture or class. Not even Lady Galadriel could object to her grandson's choice. With a small leap of his heart, Legolas realised he was thinking of his courtship with Elladan as an established fact and tried to rein back his hopes.

 _Let me learn where his heart trends first._  

Such wisdom was a ruse and a lie. Beneath it, Legolas was wholly convinced Elladan shared his overwhelming sensation of yearning attraction and joyous recognition. Indeed, if he wanted to test the ellon's heart it was only to know the exhilaration of being right after the trepidation of doubt. They would all see, his kinsmen and his countrymen, that he was neither loathsome nor repugnant, and they would rejoice with him, for the years of loneliness would be over at last.

As it turned out, his instincts about the Noldorin Lord were accurate. Unfortunately, fate inserted a rival for Elladan he could not have imagined.

He reached the room and boldly entered, not bothering to knock, glad he had not changed out of his new garments first. Three paces in he halted, for there was Elladan rising from an armchair to greet him, a vision of virile strength and beauty even now, fully clothed in luxuriant fabrics as befitted a noble Lord descended of the Three Kindred. The Orc-slayer's eyes swept over him in obvious and startled delight and he stood as though dumbstruck, lips parted and hand half-raised toward him. The moment hung in the air, a pause of suspended time, one of those minutely eternal instances in life upon which the future of all the universe seems to turn. Then the debonair cavalier spoke.

"Legolas?" The name faintly sounded as a query, but Legolas interpreted this as amazement to see him transformed from dripping wet disaster into the vision of elegant sophistication he knew he now presented.

"Aye, it is just me," grinned the prince. He moved closer and then suddenly faltered to a stop, bewildered, peering at Elladan, the vague tension of a subconscious frown tightening his forehead. There was something different here. What was that expression filling his eyes? Had his smile seemed such a randy smirk before? Elladan seemed…changed. "I…I got your note."

"Obviously, since here you are," Elrohir quipped, for of course it was he and not Elladan. He strode eagerly forward, reflecting that this was not going to be so onerous a chore at all. It was easy to see how this engaging seron had so quickly entangled Elladan's heart; Legolas was magnificent. The ellon at last moved toward him, step hesitant, and pinned him with the most amazing blue eyes Elrohir had ever seen. In them swirled a mix of trepidation and anticipation usually associated with innocence. 

He had never met a seron who betrayed anything but extensive worldliness and open desire; the unusual demeanour of this one gave Elrohir pause and it crossed his mind to abandon his scheme. He recovered, reminding himself that Elladan's heart and soul were at stake, recalling that this ellon was a courtesan carefully trained to be what his clients needed him, wanted him to be. It was, on consideration, a most enticing fantasy. Who would not enjoy being the first to savour such an exquisite specimen? He took a breath and smiled, resuming a languid stroll that led him both closer to Legolas and deeper into the shadows of the room where tall bookcases lined the walls.

"You look ravishing." An ebullient smile lit the blue eyes and Elrohir felt his lust rising. He recalled Thranduil's words that first evening and his heart bounced in frantic excitement.  _What a combination - this virginal exterior and a penchant for rough-housing._  It would be a shame to destroy such a becoming outfit, but Elrohir relished the image of ripping it from Legolas' body.

"Thank you. So do you," Legolas answered without thought and immediately regretted the inane response. Could he sound more callow? Still, it did not seem to deter Elladan, who continued his slow approach, edging them toward an alcove between the ceiling-high shelves of historical scrolls.

"Did you lock the door?" Elrohir let his eyes fall to the ellon's crotch, hoping to see signs of arousal, but could not tell anything conclusive.  _Just a few more steps and I won't need to guess._

"What?" Legolas' pace dwindled again and he glanced uncertainly over his shoulder at the door. "No, I didn't think to. Why?

"I do not want to be interrupted." Elrohir was less than an arm's reach away now. He cast another appreciative leer over the inviting figure before him. "I find I am unwilling to wait after all." With that he pounced, snatching Legolas at the biceps in a crushing grip as he whirled and slammed him hard into the bookcase. As expected, the impact forced a sharp breath from the seron's lips and Elrohir dived for them, sealing his mouth over the soft red flesh, delving inside with his tongue as Legolas' shocked exclamation reverberated down his throat.

The supple arms he'd thought to find within his clutches were instead hard as a warrior's and Legolas flinched as though pain coursed through him. Elrohir had no time to make sense of these impressions, however, for the next instant a knee connected with his groin with sufficient force to make his mind go blank in the explosion of brilliant light and excruciating pain that followed. He folded up in a heap on the floor, beyond the ability even to groan or moan in his agony, and wrenched his eyes open in time to see an elegantly booted foot aimed for his head. Everything was black and quiet after that.

  
Aragorn sat in perturbed discontent at the high table, one empty seat separating him from Elladan; Elrohir was absent. The seats for the King and his immediate household were also vacant, though many of Elboron and Idrê's many generations of progeny were present. A table one step lower was occupied by all the delegates to the trade convention and the mood there was one of gloom and open animosity toward the representative from Lake Town. The folk of Dale had unanimously turned their faces from Andaith, literally adjusting their seats so that they presented only their backs to him. The Man feigned indifference, but his raucous outbursts of laughter in response to his sole companion's remarks were forced and fearful. 

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was festive with an undertone of prickling suspense, though the nobles of the Woodland Realm sat smiling and chatting with one another amiably, sipping a pale vintage from fluted silver vessels and favouring the guests with occasional stares that communicated a peculiar combination of restrained wrath and amusement. There was no need to wonder at the reason; by this time the story of Legolas' unseemly affair was all over the stronghold and its surrounding city of tree-top talans. Everyone was discussing it, but not, of course, with the principals involved. 

Opinions were mixed, some believing the tales, others denouncing them soundly. As in any population, there are those who simply enjoy the notoriety of others and feed on the high emotions generated by controversy of any sort. There were even those who were not unhappy to see the exalted heir brought to a more common footing, but even this was irrelevant. One and all were outraged to have their warrior prince become the subject of bawdy discourse among these foreigners, these lesser people. One and all anticipated the visitors' ultimate humiliation.

Elladan had no difficulty understanding the sylvan tongue and picked up enough to comprehend the nature of the donnybrook at once. His first reaction was to track Aragorn down and accuse him of starting the rumours so to ruin his chances with Legolas. Aragorn, appalled to learn the tale, denied any involvement and convinced Elladan of his innocence. The pair then sought for Elrohir to discuss the best means to counter the gossip, deeming their House defamed and indicted falsely. Unable to learn his whereabouts, they decided to confront Andaith, who seemed to be the most vocal proponent of the story. They'd arrived at the wing assigned to the mortals to find Baragûr holding a trial of sorts, complete with various elven witnesses who recounted the lurid scenes described to them by the Man and his friend. It was during this contentious interrogation that the two brothers learned the 'seron's' true identity, the sylvan informants referring repeatedly to Ernil Legolas. 

The realisation prompted triumphant exultation in Elladan and downcast defeat in Aragorn; the former vindicated in his instincts, the latter made aware of how high he'd set his sights and how low his expectations had been. He wondered at Legolas' tolerance and willingness to extend such a cordial demeanour toward him. Elladan had departed with the intention of locating Legolas and declaring himself more clearly, but on reaching the residential wing of the fortress was summarily blocked by closed doors and armed guards. The royal family was not available to visitors at this time, he was told with cold formality, and while his arranged assignation with their prince was known, the insouciant sentries informed him Ernil Legolas would see him in the Great Hall.

As for Andaith, he scoffed in Baragûr's face, reminding him that Dale had no jurisdiction over Lake Town. He could make a formal complaint to the Mayor but that would have to wait until after the trade talks. Maybe they would be thanking him then, he said, for this disconcerting story about his son was sure to throw the King off his usual shrewd and manipulating style of negotiating. Hearing this, Baragûr and all his contingent shared silent disbelief: if the Man thought he was still going to participate in the trade talks, he was monumentally misinformed. Baragûr and his Men felt justified contempt for Andaith, who appeared to prefer the judgement of Thranduil to that of his own people. So be it. The rest of the humans were more than willing to distance themselves from Lake Town's arrogant and foolish delegate.

And so here they all were, waiting in anxious impatience for the arrival of the King and his House. Musicians played light tunes on their harps and flutes; servants wandered amid the tables with trays of delectable titbits to defray hunger until the feast began; conversation remained subdued and eyes regularly scrutinised both the nobles from Imladris and the perpetrator of the unseemly situation.

"Where is Elrohir?" Aragorn leaned closer and ventured to ask his foster-brother. "You don't suppose he has been accused of wrong-doing in this debacle, do you?"

Elladan turned to offer the young Dûnadan a rather condescending smirk. "Are you asking me if I think Elrohir is in the dungeons? Put that old bruit from your mind; Thranduil never uses those for any but Orcs and Dwarves."

"That is well, but where then is he?"

"I do not know."

"I thought you shared consciousness with him."

"Where did you get that idea?" Elladan shook his head. "We are twins but the similarity does not go beyond external appearance. We have separate minds, Estel, which I would have thought you would notice before now."

"I know that!" snapped the Man irritably. "Yet it is commonly held that in times of distress the two of you have an uncanny ability to know what is happening to one another."

"It takes a far greater level of danger than this," laughed Elladan. "We have not done anything save make an error in identification. King Thranduil will accept our apologies and allow us to participate in the judgement of Andaith."

Aragorn sighed in frustration, deciding it was futile attempting to pick his brother's brain. Elladan was lost in mentally rehearsing his explanations to Thranduil and imagining his evening with Legolas. The Man had no doubt he would be able to do little more than greet the prince, bow low, and mumble out his contrition once all the misunderstandings were eliminated. Why would the heir of the mighty forest realm bother with a lowly human of rather dubious heritage? By all accepted lore, the woodland folk held Isildur responsible for stealing the merit from the sacrifice of their people at the Last Alliance. Elladan was an imminently more appropriate suitor for an elf of such exalted lineage as Legolas possessed. 

Morose and bored, the Man scanned the cavernous hall, marvelling anew that such a sumptuous room was in fact housed in a real cave far below the ground. Aragorn had never beheld so many lamps and stared in awe at the huge, gilded chandelier dropping seemingly from nothingness so high was the vaulted roof of the place. The warm light glimmered and winked over remarkable formations hanging from the same black obscurity and danced amid bejewelled goblets, utensils of gold and mithril, and the finery of Greenwood's nobility. The same light sent shadows of bizarre shapes wobbling about over the faces nearby and the tables' polished wooden surfaces. It was a truly dazzling display of opulence encompassed within primitive and wild surrounds.

As he considered the similarity of Thranduil's kingdom with what he'd read of Menegroth and Nargothrond, movement from the rear of the hall caught his notice. There Elrohir made his way through the tables and offered a rueful smile as Aragorn's mouth fell open: there was an ugly knot on the twin's head that no amount of careful grooming could hide. Elladan stood, a slight exclamation of consternation escaping his nostrils, and reached for his brother as Elrohir came near.

"What happened to you?" he demanded.

"Where have you been?" appended Aragorn.

"I was struck unconscious," shrugged Elrohir as he lowered himself carefully into the chair his brother pulled out for him. He had managed to get himself into suitable dress for the grand event, but his head was throbbing fiercely and his genitals were not fairing much better. He reached for his goblet and drained it, not caring what was in it but grateful for the kick contained in all of the wines fermented under the eaves of Greenwood.

"I see that you are not jesting, but how did it happen, Muindor?"

"Does this have anything to do with those horrible rumours?" asked Aragorn.

"What rumours?" asked Elrohir, looking from one brother to the other as they exchanged groans of disbelief. "Seems I have missed something. Will you tell me or should I start guessing?"

"We have been accused of dallying with Thranduil's son," said Elladan.

"All three of us," added Aragorn.

"What? At the same time?" Elrohir's eyes were enormous by now. "But we've not met him yet!"

"Oh, you haven't; we have," informed Elladan darkly. "Andaith is at the bottom of a truly egregious affront to the young prince and to the honour of House Eärendil."

"Varda's Veil! Why didn't either of you come tell me?"

"We tried, but you were not readily available. No one had seen you since the morning meal and the attitude of those we tried to enlist was decidedly chilly," groused Elladan.

"So we thought you were simply lying low until the fête," concluded Aragorn, "and hoped you would arrive in due course."

"Which you did. Estel thought you might be imprisoned in the dungeons," chuckled Elladan, relieved for all his previous show of indifference.

Instinctively, the trio fell quiet as a new mood of anticipation gathered in the hall. The music ceased and a hush enveloped the room. All eyes focused on the entrance nearest the high table. There two warriors stood in full armour that gleamed in lustrous splendour, the protective suits relics of the royal family's ancient ties to the might and wealth of Doriath. These guards came to strict attention of which Glorfindel would have approved and in the opening between them appeared Galion. The King's seneschal was dressed as richly as any of the nobles present and commanded the respect of all who looked upon him. Next to Elboron, there was none closer to Thranduil than he while for Legolas he was both grandfather and loyal guardian.

Galion's discerning eye tracked the room, marking those who were amused by the rumours and relished his prince's predicament. He understood their mean-spirited mirth could never be entirely eliminated, for jealousy was a common failing and many harboured a lingering resentment from the controversy over Thranduil's choice for Greenwood's Queen. Even so, the seneschal made it plain he would not tolerate open derogation of the result of that union. More than one haughty and sneering smirk dissolved into bald dread. Galion could make life supremely unpleasant for those he judged unworthy of the protection Legolas' tireless efforts against the Shadow bought them. 

His gaze moved on to pierce Aragorn's, delving so deeply into his private soul that the Man gasped, his heart rate escalating dramatically. He held that stare as long as he could and broke just as Galion turned his inspection upon Elladan. Elrond's elder son let him look as long as he wished, desperate to transmit his genuine desire to make everything right between him and Legolas. When the seneschal's sight beheld Elrohir, it changed to one of such chilling hatred that the guilty ellon drew breath sharply.

 _He knows, then so must Thranduil. Well, if it spares Elladan, no punishment is too much._  Elrohir averted his eyes, absently touched the swollen, purple lump, and flinched.

The seneschal, satisfied that everyone was suitably grave and solemn, stood forward to clear the way as he began the formal presentation of Greenwood's ruling House. 

"Ernil Elboron Oropherion a Hiril Idrê Denwegosell," (Prince Elboron, son of Oropher, and Lady Idrê, daughter of Denwego) he called loudly and bowed low as the King's brother and law-sister entered in. The couple were elegantly garbed and fittingly bejewelled, looked serious and grim, passing frowns of disapprobation over the guests from Imladris. Elboron nodded stiffly as he seated his Lady, but Idrê refused to acknowledge the visitors. Neither spoke, turning expectantly to watch the arrival of the King and his Heir. Galion permitted a tense second or two to elapse and then: Thranduil Oropherion, Aran-en-Eringalen a Legolas Thranduilion, Ernil Rîn-en-Eringalen."

There was a general, muted commotion as a hundred or more chairs softly pushed back to allow their occupants to rise, all save Elrohir's. One and all bowed low as Thranduil and Legolas filled the space in the arched opening; all save Elrohir who sat stunned, gaping in disbelief. Again his hand went to his head as his heart fell to his stomach, realising exactly whom he had hoped to ravish mere hours ago. Desperately he tugged at Elladan's robe but when his brother's irritated glare turned upon him, Elrohir found his tongue cleaving to his palate. Elladan grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

"What is wrong with you?" he hissed. "Do you want to insult the King and his son?"

"His son?" queried Elrohir, voice a hoarse whisper, swallowing against the bubble of nausea rising through his oesophagus. "Nay. That is the seron with whom you became so enamoured."

"So you assumed, but see now: your fears were unfounded. Legolas would never trifle with my heart, Muindor." Elladan did not even try to keep the excitement from his thoughts, but it was quickly extinguished.

"Yes, Elrohir," Elboron said quietly, eyes fixed on the bulbous contusion. "Did you not know Legolas is prince of Greenwood?"

"No," Elrohir choked out, deathly pale. "I did not."  _Forgive me, Muindor. I meant to spare you hurt, not cause it._  The contrite words, buried deep in his heart and soul, remained there, for Elrohir had not the courage to admit his errors. In this way he erred a third time, for had he spoken all might still have been forgiven and forgotten. Instead, he dropped to his chair, head bowed low in misery and shame.

Oblivious to all this, the King stood resplendent in rich robes of green trimmed in white gems, a mighty broadsword belted over his fine clothes and a crown of white blossoms wrought of iridescent jewels. Beside him, Legolas stood tall and proud, his elegant clothes enhancing the vibrant blue of his expressive eyes, his golden mane loose and long, held back from his face by the delicate mithril fronds of the ancient circlet. Father and son ignored the table of delegates and barely acknowledged the nobles at the high table, vision raking the three Lords of Imladris with cold, indifferent dismissal. Thranduil and Legolas did not take their places, waiting as the throng re-seated themselves. An uneasy murmur of wary voices whispering rolled through the hall and dissipated into the vast space overhead. The King spoke:

"People of Greenwood, my sylvan and Sindarin kin, there is little cause to celebrate this night. The visitors from Imladris have brought word of a new invasion of our home: a trio of Nazgûl speeding to the Black Tower. War is upon us once more. The conference on trade with our allies in Dale is therefore cancelled. All who are not of our folk must leave, returning to their respective realms with all haste. Please, remain and partake of the food and drink as long as you may, for this may well be the last such feast for many a day. Galu-en-Tawar an li."

With that dire pronouncement, father and son turned and left the hall.

Stunned silence evaporated under the heat of frantic speech that erupted from the throats of every person at once. Amid the babbling confusion, servants poured into the room bearing trays heaped with meats and breads and delicacies galore, plunking them down in the centres of the tables. Stewards emerged with bottles of the best wines to be found in the King's cellars and set about filling every cup. The musicians struck up a lively tune. The roiling tempest tempered into heavy dread, suffocating and leaden as the rains of a monsoon, fuelled by the dark wind howling out of the Southeast. The Wood Elves' ruckus turned ponderous and subdued. This was not the first time they had faced a future so bleak and no people in Middle-earth new better the need to pull together and treasure every instance of joy and peace, no matter how fleeting. As the guests from Imladris looked on, the sylvans commenced their feast with nearly desperate fervour.

"Please, have some of the duck," urged Elboron, spearing a hefty portion onto Elrohir's plate. He paused, again permitting his eyes to linger over the purple lump. "You have met with some mishap, Elrohir," he said, tone sarcastic. "It is Elrohir, isn't it? Not Elladan?"

"You know it is Elrohir," said Elladan, instantly on edge. "What is this about? Do you know how my brother was injured?"

"Aye, he surely knows," groaned Elrohir. He made to rise but Elboron leaped up and prevented it, pushing him back down in the chair.

"No, you'll not be running off just yet," he commanded, resuming his seat as the chatter round them faltered and faces began turning their way.

"I only wished to go and make my apologies," mumbled Elrohir.

"For what?" demanded Aragorn.

"Elboron, explain your actions," barked Elladan, displeased to see his brother treated so rudely.

"I think it would be better for your brother to do the explaining." He flashed Elladan a searing glare. "Assuming you were not part of the ugly scene, but perhaps that is a premature judgement. Are you truly ignorant of Elrohir's infraction against the House of Oropher?"

"Of course he is," sighed Elrohir. "If he knew, he would have stopped me."

"Ai Valar, Elrohir, what have you done?" Elladan was beyond alarmed now.

"I met with Legolas today," said Elrohir. "Believing him to be a seron…"

"While pretending to be you," Elboron inserted with a grim smile at Elladan.

"Oh no," said Aragorn.

"Why," asked Elladan, rigid in his chair, already realising the answer.

"I hoped to avail myself of his services," Elrohir licked his lips and continued. "He instantly quelled my ardour, delivering the kick that laid me low and raised this knot." He gingerly brushed the knobby bruise, daring a glance at his brother's face.

"Surely not." Aragorn was shaking his head in disbelief. "You didn't try to force him, did you?"

"One cannot force a seron," whispered the shamed Twin, eyes on his hands where they lay clenched in his lap.

Beside them Elladan sat pale and silent, trying to assimilate this news and what it meant. He could not see past the image of Legolas struggling against his brother and dark red rage began pooling in his gut. "How far," he said, voice trembling, the words packed with his restrained fury.

"A kiss, nothing more."

Aragorn heaved a great sigh of relief, but Elladan remained unmoved, face a flinty mask of loathing that closely bordered hatred. 

"You have dishonoured both him and me," he said, the cool tone belying the blazing wrath inflaming his heart. "For this you must answer. You are under my doom; meet me in the arena and bring your sword." With that he rose, so intense his pent outrage that the chair toppled over behind him with a loud clatter. Elladan strode from the hall without waiting to hear his brother's pleading cry for forgiveness.

"Curse of Námo!" Aragorn swore. "What possessed you?" Elrohir ignored him and made to rise. Aragorn snatched his sleeve to prevent it. "You cannot face him when he is like this, Elrohir."

"Oh, I really think he must," said Elboron blandly. "If he doesn't, Elrohir will have to face Thranduil instead, for Legolas is injured and cannot undergo close combat just yet. For the sake of the long accord between the realms of Imladris and Greenwood, if personal honour does not move him, Elrohir will meet the challenge. Won't you?" The cold smile he offered when the denounced ellon lifted his gaze held no comfort.

"Yes," nodded Elrohir. "I will meet his challenge. Put your wager on Elladan, mellon vrûn." He stood and cast his sight over the sea of faces watching the drama, meeting none of the avid eyes so hungry for his defeat. "Let it be known here by all present: my brother was not privy to my errors and has done no wrong to your prince. Elladan's intent is wholly honourable." The announcement was met with frigid silence and he quickly retreated from the place.

"Elrohir!" Aragorn called after him but received not so much as a glance. He stood slowly, staring at the open arch through which both his brothers had left, debating whether to go after them and attempt to stop this duel or seek an audience with Thranduil to beseech intervention.

"Do not interfere," warned Elboron.

Aragorn presented a scowl as he stalked from the table, though he knew Elboron was right; there was nothing he could do to stop the contest. He could only hope, since Elrohir clearly accepted his fault, the battle would be short and the injuries minor.  _A visit to the infirmary to ensure the surgery is prepared would be wise._  Elladan would never imperil his brother's life, not even as angry as he was now, but there would be blood. Considering all this as he moved toward the exit, Aragorn heard Idrê's cutting dismissal.

"You see we were right. None of them can get past his own reputation to consider Legolas' position in all this mess. The Twin Lords' hearts are cold and unfeeling while Isildur's Heir runs to play second to them both."

He pretended not to have heard, but the words struck Aragorn as unfair. Elladan was certainly not indifferent to Legolas, no more than he. Yet what hope had either of them to convince the prince of this fact? His brother was doing what he thought honour demanded, both his and Legolas'. Surely Elboron would understand that, and Legolas also.

 _Yet, they are not Noldorin folk. Mayhap things are not viewed the same way here._

It occurred to the Man that maybe his brothers' duel was deemed another insult to Legolas. By defending the honour of his House, did it really seem Elladan ignored the prince? An apology was in order, he decided, a personal apology rather than a public display of chivalry conducted only partly in Legolas' name. That had worked wonders for him earlier when he still believed Legolas a seron. The prince had accepted the present and even King Thranduil had smiled on his son's acquaintance with a mere mortal. The monarch's light humour over the encounter was a little unnerving, but on the other hand it was a tremendous relief not to be competing with so majestic and imposing an ellon.

Suddenly the possibility of actually wooing and winning Legolas seemed plausible. It was up to him, Aragorn decided, to present the requisite penitence and explain how the mistake in identity came to pass. That pulled him up short as he realised this, too, was Elrohir's doing. Nor could it be denied that Aragorn perceived the advantage the Twins' conflict granted him. He directed his steps not to the infirmary or the arena, but to Legolas' apartment, meeting none of the obstacles Elladan had encountered. In short order he stood before the door. Gathering his nerve, Aragorn knocked softly. No response came forth and so he tapped again, adding a sombre entreaty.

"Legolas? It is Aragorn, may I enter?" Still there was no indication anyone was within, but the Man was not ready to give up. Again he rapped, louder this time, and almost immediately the portal opened to reveal the prince. 

Gone were the fabulous clothes and the regal circlet. Legolas had opted to don his loose, silk sparring trousers and was in the act of gathering the open tunic top about him. His brows rose in obvious surprise, but quickly contracted into severe and glowering furrows as he clutched the fabric even tighter across his torso. "Yes?"

Aragorn drew deeply to steady his hammering heart, fully cognisant that his foster-brother's fate might well await him should he proceed, but unwilling to run and be proven cowardly. "I came to learn if you are well," he said.

"Why wouldn't I be?" spat Legolas, indignant and defensive.

"Well, I know what happened," began Aragorn cautiously.

"Do you? Then I suggest you go see to your foster-brother. I noticed he has a rather large lump on his head. Other injuries will not be so readily apparent, but I assure you they are present."

"I only hoped to try and explain things, to apologise," insisted Aragorn, daring a step over the threshold, hands held up in supplication before him. "May I come in?"

"Why, are you hoping to succeed where Elladan failed? Or was it Elrohir? I confess I do not know for certain even now." Legolas' words rang with disgust.

"I would never impose myself on anyone that way," assured Aragorn. "You've already endured the worst of my boorishness at the pools." He smiled a self-deprecating smile. "You forgave me for that."

"So I did," Legolas sighed, unconsciously cradling his injured arm at the elbow as he observed the Man. There was nothing deceptive in his face and it took courage to come here alone. "You really knew nothing of your foster-brother's plans?"

"Nothing, I swear it; may Eru snuff out my spark if I lie," averred Aragorn.

"No need to be so dramatic," murmured Legolas, but he was reassured by the vehemence of the response. 

He had many questions about the incident but no wish to approach either of the Twins, nor was he willing to unburden himself to Etsiri and hear her 'I told you so's'. His father had already done enough of that and firmly discouraged any further contact between him and the Orc-slayers. Aragorn was not guilty just by virtue of being from Imladris, and perhaps the Man could enlighten him. "Very well, come in." He stood aside and let Aragorn pass, snorting at the courtly bow tendered to him. He closed the door and the two stood staring at one another awkwardly. Again Legolas blew out a heavy breath, reluctantly recalling his manners. "Would you care for something to eat or drink? Ada had the kitchen send up more than I can possibly finish alone." He motioned, arm extended stiffly, toward the inner chambers.

"That's very cordial of you," said Aragorn and could not prevent another bow. He came up rather red-faced but noticed Legolas's eyes were smiling even if his expression remained sceptical. "I am very hungry, for I was too nervous to eat anything and left before the feast even started."

"Too nervous?" Legolas led the way to the sitting room where a table was heaped with tempting victuals. On the floor was a basket bearing three bottles of wine, one opened, a half-empty goblet beside it. "Help yourself, please." He retreated to his favourite chair and slithered into it, careful to mask his aches as he relaxed, legs splayed, head back, eyes drifting shut. He blinked them open suddenly and adjusted his position, retrieving the cup and draining it.

"Thank you." Aragorn watched all this with dismay. It was now apparent that Legolas was exhausted and had probably been asleep, in that very chair perhaps, when he knocked. He hadn't missed the indications of pain, either, but bided his time. Legolas was unlikely to welcome any advice from anyone associated with Imladris right now. He loaded a plate, balancing it on Legolas' knee before taking up a serving for himself, and perched in the matching seat. The prince eyed him with faint suspicion. "I dislike eating alone," he shrugged and filled their goblets. "As to the nervousness, I heard the stories circulating and then found out who you really are, so I feared the worst." 

"Who told you I was a seron?" Legolas began his interrogation, nibbling at the food.

"No one, exactly," Aragorn began and through bites of the meal told the tale as he understood it. He was relieved that Legolas seemed to find Elrohir's misconception amusing, after the fact. The Man refilled the glass Legolas held forth and watched as the prince downed it in three gulps, presenting the goblet for more.

"Adar will be livid with indignant wrath when he hears this part of the tale. What has Elrohir got against me?" he laughed, but the question was no jest and he peered intently at his guest, awaiting the answer.

"Nothing. He thought you were a seron and hoped to prevent you and Elladan from becoming lovers. I beg you will try to understand his reasons before you condemn him. He feared Elladan would lose his heart to someone who cannot return his feelings."

"Valar, that is exactly what my family says about your brothers." Legolas did not know what to think of Elrohir's motives, stuck on the reference to the possibility of Elladan falling in love with him.  _I could not be entirely wrong about him, then._  Yet, it was a confusing situation for neither of the Twins had bothered to seek him out with explanations as had their foster-brother. "Did they send you here to speak for them?"

"No, they've no idea I'm here." Aragorn did not want to reveal they were fighting a combat of honour over Legolas, and did not contradict this erroneous view of the Twins. He studied Legolas instead, documenting carefully the discomfort he was trying to hide. He had kept count of how many times the prince had drained and filled his cup, enough to empty one bottle and half the second, cognisant he was drugging himself with alcohol to dull the pain. How to get him to admit to the injuries and permit him to tend them? The trust between them was a tentative thing as yet.  _Perhaps the direct approach is best._

"Legolas, it is plain that you are uncomfortable and I was told you were injured. I am a healer, too, in addition to being a warrior. Will you let me have a look at your arm?"

"Not likely, is it, under the circumstances," Legolas scoffed, shaking his head. "It's true, I was already injured and the confrontation has mildly aggravated those wounds, but I can tend them myself." 

As though to emphasise the point he filled and then emptied his goblet again, raising it to Aragorn in mock salute. He was a bit intoxicated and didn't care. All his hopes for a lover were now spoiled by the invasion; the fantasy of Elladan as a potential life-mate quashed. If the Orc-slayer wanted to explore that possibility, surely he would have come in person to make things right. As it was, he'd not even sent Legolas a note. _Etsiri was right after all._  He sat forward with a grunt and reached for the wine bottle, which was empty. Another sigh left him and he flopped back in the chair, frowning into the air at nothing in particular.

"Permit me," offered Aragorn, settling his plate on the floor at his feet and taking up the last bottle. In the bottom of the basket was an opener and he worked the cork loose, waited as a wisp of smoky vapour exhaled from the wine, poured for Legolas.

"My thanks." Legolas mood was becoming decidedly morose but he felt inclined to indulge his misery a bit. He watched Aragorn watching him swallow and that gave him a thought. He hauled himself more upright again, pointing an unsteady goblet at the Man. "Don't imagine the wine dulls my reflexes. I can still best you if the need arises."

"I believe it," Aragorn presented a lop-sided grin, "but I have no plans to attempt a seduction."

"Of course not. Why should you when there are seryn readily available for whom you need feel nothing but lust," Legolas complained. "At least Elrohir stole a kiss; I suppose that is the most I can expect. Adar will banish them now and that will only serve to frighten off any other eligible suitor I might consider."

Aragorn frowned and shook his head. "That is a pity," he said. "The ellyn here must be fools. King Thranduil did not object to your friendship with me; an interested suitor need only be bold and forthright."

"Aye, that's so; he was very pleased when you came and made peace with me." Legolas considered this as he evaluated the Man again. Still dressed for the fête, Aragorn was every inch the heir of that most noble lineage of Men. His behaviour was exemplary, too, refraining from making any inappropriate advances. Then again, why hadn't he? Was he still interested or had the knowledge of Legolas' identity stifled his desire? Legolas squirmed a little in his seat, thinking to test the Man, and let his shirt gape wide as he gingerly brushed fingers over the bruised ribs. "Ai, the wine only does so much. This is your fault, of course, for interrupting the long soak the healers prescribed as the cure." He moaned softly and shook out his flowing mane, peering through lash-veiled eyes as Aragorn's sight tracked his hand.

"I am truly sorry," Aragorn swallowed, heart racing, and raised his eyes to Legolas'. He caught his breath, for there was no denying the sultry heat emanating from those deep blue depths. "I could examine the hurts anew, if you wish it."

"How do I know you have any training as healer? Maybe this is just another ploy to get my clothes off," challenged Legolas but the words were couched in tones that clearly invited the Man to accept that challenge.

"Fairly said," Aragorn frowned to conceal his delighted grin and dropped his head. Things were moving along much better than he had imagined possible. "I do not know how to convince you, save to reiterate that I am but a mortal Man and you would have no trouble disabling me."

"That is true," giggled Legolas. "You are both bold and brave to chance it, then."

"I am genuinely concerned about you, Legolas," Aragorn said seriously. "I will not press beyond the clinical bounds of a healer's liberties."  _At least, not by much._

"Those are quite extensive boundaries!" snorted Legolas. "Still, I did promise Ada I would see a healer. I consent to your examination, Aragorn."

"So be it," said Aragorn. He took a steadying breath. Now that the moment had come, he was almost afraid to touch Legolas. Really, he could not avail himself of an invitation obviously made under the influence of heady wine. Were he sober, Legolas probably never would have let him in the apartment. To top it all off, the prince was substituting Aragorn for Elladan and would likely regret the swap later. Besides, the Man's pride did not allow being chosen as a mere consolation prize.  _Well, I already agreed to it; there's no turning back now lest I offend him again._

Rising, he looked about and spied a small foot stool which he retrieved and carried to Legolas' chair. Seating himself there, he took the goblet from Legolas' hand and set it aside, noting that the prince was flushed, compliant, and aroused. Thinking this was going to be the most difficult examination he'd ever conducted, he presented a grim countenance to counter the ellon's excitement and reached for the loose top. Taking pains to remain aloof and professional, he slipped the shirt free and set a trembling hand over the injured ribcage, utterly unable to refrain from noticing how tight and dark and delicious the prince's nipples looked. Aragorn swallowed hard as his heart hammered so loudly he wondered if Legolas could hear it. He pressed the bruised skin lightly and was shocked by the reaction. Legolas flinched and bit back a small groan.

"Carefully!" he hissed, glowering at the Man. Apparently he meant to perform a real inspection.  _Not very romantic._  Legolas sighed and shifted, considering whether to dismiss him, when the pressure returned and he gasped aloud.

"The ribs are broken," Aragorn announced in surprise. "At least two." He met the prince's aggravated glare with an admonishing one of his own learned by observing Elrond's demeanour with difficult patients. "These should be wrapped, Legolas." From that point forward he was absorbed in his task and ignored all Legolas' attempts to explain. He took up the arm the prince had been shielding and palpated the limb along its entire length, noting soreness at the wrist and a break above the elbow. That made Legolas grit his teeth, his entire frame rigid, for the fracture was misaligned.

"No wonder you were favouring it. The bone needs to be set again," Aragorn declared, certain this had been caused by Elrohir's mishandling and feeling sick about it. "It would be wise to bind the wrist as well and then immobilise the arm. Is there any way you can send someone to the infirmary to get the bandaging required?"

"No need, I have ample supplies in here." Legolas was about to raise himself up when the Man's hand settled with careful but firm pressure on his good shoulder.

"Stay still and tell me where to find it," Aragorn insisted.

"I've a trunk in there with all you need."

Legolas pointed to a door in the back wall and Aragorn went through to find a neat and tidy bedchamber, simply appointed even as the sitting room was. The apartment was not the sort of rooms he would imagine a prince would inhabit, he reflected, but then again none of Greenwood's royal family behaved with the arrogance often associated with those of high birth. They were warriors first and foremost and that was understandable given the dangerous conditions afflicting the ancient forest. Aragorn recalled his decision to remain and help in the coming battle and renewed his determination with greater fervour. Even if the King sent his brothers away, he would stay and fight beside the sylvans.

All this crossed his mind as he crossed the room to the ample and comfortable looking bed, at the foot of which was the trunk. This he opened and found clothes, weapons, books, and a very well put together field kit. Unable to restrain his curiosity, the Man lifted out an exquisite long knife in a beautifully tooled leather scabbard. Before he could unsheathe it, a slight noise behind him warned that he was not alone. He turned to find Legolas carefully lowering himself to sit on the bed.

"Do you generally rummage through your patients' personal belongings when you treat their hurts?" he demanded. "Put the knife back, Aragorn."

"Yes, of course, forgive me." Aragorn hastily set the blade down and closed the trunk, bringing the field kit along to the bedside. "I thought I told you to stay put."

"I am weary," complained Legolas. "My ribs hurt and I want to stretch out. Are you going to bind me up or not?"

Under different circumstances, that query might have far more enticing possibilities and Aragorn could not suppress a slightly leering smile. He caught Legolas' eye and his interpretation of the remark must have shown, for the prince smirked and tossed his head. Aragorn proceeded to do his job and set the arm neatly and quickly, binding the break and the sprained wrist. He moved on to the ribs and wound them tightly in gauze, all of which Legolas endured without complaint, though he was somewhat haggard when all was completed.

"Done," Aragorn said and smiled.

"My thanks," Legolas dipped his head politely. "I do feel better; you are indeed a skilled healer." Then he set about trying to heave himself up onto the mattress, exhausted and ready to rest.

"Wait." 

Automatically, Aragorn moved to help, tugging down the counterpane and stacking the pillows into a fluffy pile. Without preamble he gathered Legolas' legs and draped the long limbs out across the bed, then took Legolas under the arms and cautiously slid him against the soft support. This placed him close enough to feel the ellon's breath across his face and Aragorn lifted his eyes to find the blue pools intently watching him, the light therein fairly smouldering. The Man was suddenly very aware of the warmth of the bare skin beneath his hands and the silky texture of the fine hairs confined to the underarm. Legolas' scent filled his nostrils, musky and indicative of arousal, and the Man let his sight drop to lips moist and plump and already parted. The inviting image scattered the inhibitions he'd so sternly set upon his actions and Aragorn bent the few centimetres required to claim that lovely mouth.

Legolas opened for him readily, sighing in pleased delight as a mobile tongue darted in to taste him. He lapped at it and was rewarded with a frenzied, exuberant exploration, the mattress compressing as the Man's weight settled on the bed. Fingers gently brushed a nipple and he startled, the touch electric and sufficient to ignite his desire fully, but as he flexed his back to encourage those fingers a sharp twinge ripped through his side. He went still as stone, a groan got free, and Aragorn retreated at once.

"Ai! Forgive me, Legolas, I can't imagine what you must think," blustered Aragorn, mortified to have left those clinical boundaries so far behind and caused Legolas pain to boot. He peered anxiously at the ellon, worried about how this new offence would be treated, and found instead an expression of weary disappointment clouding the azure irises.

"Nay, you did no wrong," said Legolas and smiled, suddenly more tired than he would have thought possible in light of the moment just shared. His cock was rock hard. "Was a fine kiss," he announced, smiling, and then to his chagrin yawned hugely. When it was done, he found Aragorn grinning at him, hands propped on his hips as he stood tall and proud. That made him chuckle a bit, no small amount proud of his achievement himself, and snuggled into the pillows, pulling the covers over his knees. "Perhaps we should stop now, at least until I know something more about you."

"Indeed, we ought to be friends before we become lovers," Aragorn replied quietly, eyes running over the lean, supple body. The soft cloth left little to the imagination and he felt a surge in his groin as he noted the small damp spot marking the pinnacle of the prince's organ. He met Legolas' eyes anew and was overwhelmed with warmth and the most deliciously frustrating form of anticipation he'd ever known. He took a step backward. "Will you join me for the morning meal?"

"Yes, in fact, I expect you to bring it when you come."

His eyes widened and Aragorn felt his cheeks flush as his heart thudded, mouth dry. "When do you want me?"

"Come as soon as you wake in the morning," rejoined Legolas, pleased with himself even though this was rather a common double entendre. Aragorn seemed to appreciate it, too, and the Man bowed low as he backed from the room, lifting shining eyes for a last farewell before closing the door. Sure he would never fall into reverie, Legolas dropped into oblivion almost at once without even realising it, finally succumbing to the stress of the injuries and the excitement of the day.

Aragorn, not tired a bit, his brothers forgotten, and completely unable to imagine sleeping, went in search of King Thranduil.

TBC

* * *

 **Glossary:**

Idrê - thoughtfulness  
Etsiri - river's mouth  
Seron - lover, courtesan  
Seryn - more than one courtesan  
Seronath - all courtesans as a class  
Baragûr - Fiery-heart  
Andaith - a mark denoting a long sound for a vowel.

Ela! Elladan ar Elrohir, tultâ di gwa-lassiê - Behold! Elladan and Elrohir, come under the leaves. ( a traditional sylvan greeting in primitive elvish)

Brûn flad-en-gwaew, pedich farn - Old bag of wind, you speak enough (you talk too much)

melethron - male lover

Ernilen - My Prince

Elboron - Brave Star

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

 


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